The Prankster's Apprentice
by kitcat234
Summary: Sometimes, George would find himself out of his depths when working on a prank. Problem is, Fred was always the one to help him out. With Fred gone and a business to run, George is desperate for a little assistance. And he knows the only person who can truly help him is the one person who is guaranteed to say 'no'. But he's been told he's quite good at convincing people...
1. Chapter 1

George paced around the room, just about ready to pull his hair out. Which would be difficult considering how short Molly Weasley had just sheared it.

"_You are getting to look like Bill. I can only deal with so much unruly hair in this family," she had said as she forced him down into a chair and whipped out her wand. He had left that encounter with ridiculously short hair and his pride wounded, which was only aided slightly that Bill and Charlie had suffered the same fate._

He rubbed his hands through his short hair, grimacing at the spiky feel of it. He needed to learn that spell to grow his hair out or he was going to go mad. He turned once he met the wall and was again reminded why he had originally been upset. This new product was an absolute mess. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was working correctly. The pin would just not stay a pin. It kept fighting him, flying about, whistling, and turning colors. It absolutely refused to stay a normal-looking pin. He glared at the fireplace on the opposite side of the room, remembering his conversation just hours earlier with Lee.

"_Did you try a freezing charm?" Lee had asked as he frowned thoughtfully at his fireplace._

"_No, I just sat on my arse and hoped it would fix itself. Of course I tried freezing it, Lee! It lasted for about a minute before it popped up and caught me in the eye," said George's head, which was floating amidst the flames._

"_Oh, so that's why there's all that cream on your eye. It gave you a shiner!"_

"_You're not helping," growled George._

"_I dunno, mate. This was yours' and Fred's product, not mine. I don't know what's gone into it so I can't help much."_

_George groaned. "Bugger. I've been at this for a month, Lee. I'm seriously thinking of scrapping it."_

"_You can't! You know how excited Fred was about this one. You can't just leave this unfinished."_

_George sighed heavily. "You're right. I know you're right." _

_There was a pause as they both just looked about pensively before Lee said, "Man, this two-country-business-thing is bloody difficult."_

"_Right?" George agreed. "I'm going absolutely mad trying to come up with new pranks and keep the store going."_

"_It's just as bad over here. Plus, everyone here keeps asking me where I'm from because I don't have the accent. I think I should just wear a sign about my neck saying 'I'm from England. Bugger off.'"_

"_Somehow I think that'd be bad for business."_

"_Yeah, I thought so too," said Lee thoughtfully._

"_You were the one who said you'd be 'right at home' in Ireland."_

"_Oh bollocks. You just knew your mum would kill you if you didn't stay in England."_

"_Well, that's certainly true. Hey, I've got to go. My legs are starting to seize up here."_

"_Alright. Sorry I couldn't help. Let me know if you figure it out, alright? Best of luck."_

"_Yeah. Thanks, mate. I'll talk to you later."_

George looked back at the pin, which was vibrating and shifting quickly between being a pin for a jacket and a sewing pin. He rolled his eyes. Why did he have to be so rubbish at Transfiguration? Well, he had never been awful at it, per say. He had always passed it with an E, but he had always been best in Potions and Charms. Fred had been the one with the perfect scores on the Transfiguration tests, which was why he had been so excited when they had thought up the idea for this new product. This was really Fred's baby. And now with him gone, almost a year to the day now, George was getting desperate; wanting to make sure he finished what Fred had started.

As the pin started to rocket around the room, pinging off the walls and desks, George covered his head with one arm as he fired a stunning spell with the other. The pin dropped onto the floor with an innocent _tink_. He crossed the room, threw the tiny piece of metal that was quickly becoming the bane of his existence into a desk drawer, and stalked from the room.

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He climbed up the stairs to his flat and immediately headed to the fridge. He stood in front of it for a minute, just staring unseeingly into the small box. Finally, he decided on a bottle of Butterbeer. As he cracked it open, he headed to his favorite armchair in his sitting room, kicking off his shoes as he went. He took a long pull from his bottle and picked up the quaffle he had lying around. (He had stolen it from Ginny the other day as a punishment for spiking his dinner with catnip, which he now knew tasted absolutely disgusting.) He began to toss it in the air as he tilted back in his chair, catching it again before it could make acquaintance with his face.

What should he do? He had to finish this product, as frustrating and seemingly unsolvable as it was. He had to, for Fred. But he didn't know how the hell to do it. And Lee was no help. Not that he didn't try; working with Lee was just a lot more difficult now that he was in Ireland and not in the same shop every day. Fred would have been proud of them, continuing on the shop and even expanding to keep up with the high demand, but knowing that didn't make it all any easier. George still had days where he would catch a glimpse of something random in the shop or in their flat, like the Portable Swamp, and the memories and the pain would come flooding back, crashing into him so hard that it would take him down to his knees, his eyes filled with tears. It was not the best state to be in when you were supposed to be running a company almost by yourself.

His mind started to wander as he tried to think of possible options for what to do to fix the pin, and maybe some of the other products that were stuck in the middle of testing. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. An idea that was so ridiculous, so crazy…

He lost his grip on the ball and it fell before he could react. The quaffle hurtled down and smacked into his face. He jumped at the shock and felt the chair start to fall backwards. He shot his torso forward, wobbling, until the chair regained its balance. Clutching his aching nose, he thought about the possibility that had just occurred to him.

It was insane.

It was impossible.

It would never, ever, ever, ever work.

And yet…

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'That's it. I'm going to die here. I'm going to shrivel up and just become sad and dead inside.'

Hermione jammed the heel of her hands into her closed eyes and grinded furiously. Little squiggles and light bursts broke in the blackness; yellow, orange, and red. She opened her eyes. She was still in her cubicle at work. Damn.

She looked down at the parchment on her desk, another form regarding a magical creature that was behaving wrongly, according to some wizard. She copied the form and viciously crumped the copy in her hands, trying to make it as absolutely wrecked as possible. She squeezed it once more for good measure before throwing it into the bin at the other end of her cubicle, which was almost overflowing with crumpled balls of parchment of all different colors. This was her stress technique, although, judging from her elevated pulse, it was failing her at the moment.

Another interdepartmental memo zoomed in and hovered right in front of her face. Hermione snatched it out of the air, crumpling it slightly in her hand as she did so. Her eyes scanned it quickly. She groaned and put her forehead on her desk. She felt like bashing it repeatedly against the solid wood, but she knew that wouldn't be much help. Plus, she didn't need more of a headache than she already had.

It was safe to say that she disliked her job. _Strongly disliked_ would even be an accurate term. And what she hated most was that she felt obligated to continue working there. After how much she had fought for Buckbeak, Dobby, Winky, and all other house elves, everyone had expected her to go to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She herself had thought it would be a perfect fit, especially with the major Ministry reform after the War, making the Ministry a much more accepting and fair place.

But no, it had been a terrible, awful decision. It was a dead-end job filled with hours of paperwork, droning meetings, five-scroll-long reports, and mind-numbingly, exhaustingly boring coworkers. She couldn't stand it. She itched for the excitement she had been filled with in her years at Horgwarts. Yes, the year of the War had been dangerous and awful and so utterly depressing, but there was always something that could be done, she had always been needed. Here she was just another talking head for a system that didn't care too much about what they were controlling or saving.

She looked up at the clock that hung opposite her desk and smiled slightly. It was two past five in the evening. That seemed like a good enough time to scarper out of here and head home.

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Hermione was ready to start relaxing. She was out of her work robes, into her pajamas, her hair tied up into a huge messy knot at the top of her head, and she had a new book to read. This was going to be a nice night, an escape from the drudgery of her days at work. She carefully carried her mug over to her sofa, ready to sit down and enjoy some time with her new—

_Knock knock knock knock!_

Her hand jolted slightly from surprise and some nearly-boiling tea slopped over the edge and onto her hand. She shouted a small _Ow!_ and hurriedly set her mug down before realizing that she should probably deal with whoever was at the door. She expected it would be her dotty neighbor, Mrs. Edgeworth, who constantly came over about eight at night to ask if Hermione would like to join her for an afternoon tea. So, when she opened the door, the last person she was expecting was—

"George?"

"Hey Hermione, I—"

"What in the name of Merlin happened to your hair?" she said, staring at him aghast.

"Oh. Ah. My mum got to it. She did the same to Charlie and Bill, but they already fixed theirs, the lucky sods."

"Oh god. It's awful. Hold on. Come here." Hermione grabbed George's hand and dragged him into her flat, through the sitting room, and into the bathroom. She stood with him in front of the mirror and he looked back at his very strange-looking reflection.

"I look like I'm in the muggle military or something," George said.

"Alright," she said as she pulled out her wand. "I want you to tell me when to stop, alright?" She flicked her wand silently and he watched in the mirror until his hair was back to its normal, messy self.

"That's brilliant, Hermione. I really appreciate it," he said as he ran his fingers through his hair, taking delight simply in the fact that he could.

Hermione carded her fingers up the back of his head before ruffling his hair. "I think this is a much more fitting length for you. You're jawline shows more with your hair like this."

"Been looking at my handsome and angular profile, have we now?" George teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved his head as she walked out of the bathroom. "So did you come here to have me grow your hair out or—"

"Actually, no," he said as he trotted over to where she was sitting on the couch, taking a tentative sip of her tea. "I came to ask you something…odd."

"How intriguing," she said dryly. "And what would that be?"

George cleared his throat, all his thoughts about how this was the _absolute stupidest _plan _ever_ zooming through his mind at top speed. "Err…Hermione…I was wondering if you would, ah, come work at the shop with me."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, the tea in her hands all but forgotten. There was absolute silence before laughter burst from Hermione.

"You're joking, right?"

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A/N: Not Rowling. I do not own anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione stared at him for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"You're joking, right?" she managed to choke out. She carefully set her tea down on the small table next to her as her hand, her whole body, shook from laughter. "You want me," she giggled, "to come work at your joke shop. That's a good one, George."

She was in the middle of wiping her streaming eyes when he finally replied, "Yes. Yes I do."

She looked up at him, still standing in front of her, looking rather uncomfortable, and let out a confused giggle.

"Wait…what?"

He quickly sat down in the chair nearest hers and smiled at her earnestly. "I want you to work with me, Hermione. Come on. It would be brilliant."

Hermione, to his utter surprise, let out an undignified snort. "No it wouldn't," she said, the humor in her voice edging on hysterical. She was staring at him as if he had lost his mind. At this point, he felt like that was a distinct possibility.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Why not? George, look at me," she said seriously. "You are George Weasley, prankster extraordinaire, king of distractions. I am Hermione Granger, former prefect and, if I had actually done my last year, Head Girl. I'm the person who confiscated your pranks, who told your mother on you. Now you want me to join you?"

"From the way you explain that, it's clear you're over that awful bossy phase." That earned him a glare that he ignored. "And you're brilliant! And I'm brilliant! You and I working together? We'd be unstoppable!"

The shy smile he had received from the compliment swiftly changes to an irritated huff as he finished his sentence. "You are so full of yourself, you know that?"

"Yes, but I'm devilishly handsome, so it evens out," he said with a roguish wink. She simply scoffed. "Oh come on, Hermione. Please?"

"I do have a job—"

"Yes, but it's dull and awful and you hate it."

"I do n—"

"Hermione," he said knowingly.

Hermione huffed. George mentally scolded himself. Why he had thought this would work was beyond him. He knew from the start she would fight this. She was one of the last people he would ever want to ask to help him with his products, given their history and her past propensity to scold him and Fred, and confiscate their products or their test subjects. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And Merlin, was he desperate.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then an idea occurred to him. It was honest, but it was a rather awful way of getting her to agree. And he was eighty percent sure it would work. Maybe eighty-seven. He closed his mouth and let out a deep breath.

"Hermione," he said, his voice quiet, "I really need your help." Hermione noticed the change and immediately leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing slightly in concern and confusion. "There's this prank that Fred and I were working on before—, just before." She nodded slightly in understanding. "It was really his idea and he was really excited about it. But we didn't get to finish it, or even really start it, and then he—" He swallowed. He hated talking about Fred's death. It was like a new wound every time.

"Why do you need my help?" she asked, interrupting the silence that had fallen.

"The biggest part of the design requires a high level of complex transfiguration, as well as charms. The problem is, Transfiguration was Fred's thing, and mine was Charms and Potions." He paused. "I just—, you're the best I know at Transfiguration, and I need someone like that to help me, with this product and with all our other products we never got to finish."

George watched as Hermione worried her bottom lip with her teeth. He felt a twinge, a twisting in his gut. Even though everything he said was absolutely true, he did feel a little bad pulling out the Dead Brother Card to get to his result. But he really didn't see another way and there was no way of completing the product without her help.

Hermione surveyed him, her clever brown eyes flicking between his own and her living room, thinking. He felt like crossing his fingers, but he was afraid it would work against the image of maturity he was trying to portray.

"I've never fully agreed with your work," she said, speaking slowly as if consciously choosing every word. "But I can't deny that yours' and Fred's work is truly impressive." George fought hard to keep the smug smile from sliding onto his face, but he probably just ended up looking like he had gas. That probably wasn't helping his case in gaining sympathy or trust, but thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to notice. "And a part of me really wants to help you, and more for Fred's sake than yours." He caught the small smile that played around her lips, the only hint that she was ribbing him. "But…I don't know, George. It doesn't seem like a good idea to me. I have no idea what you two did. I don't think I can just jump on and become part of the team. I mean, what you and Lee have got go—"

"Lee's gone," George interrupted.

"What?"

"No, not gone as if we had a fight or anything," George supplied quickly. "We opened another store. In Ireland. And he's gone to run it. So we're stuck, because neither of us can design without the other. And he can't figure out how to fix the product either, so I'm still buggered."

Hermione paused, pursing her lips as she stared hard at her rapidly-cooling drink, thinking. Her teeth came out to worry her bottom lip. She took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"Can I think about it?" she asked carefully.

George's heart sank. That was not the response he had wanted, or expected. He would have even been a little more understanding with an upfront rejection but _I'll think about it_? That was the universal sign for _I want to say no but I don't know how to let you down easy_ which really just meant that your emotions were going to be strung along for a little while before they finally said the two most demoralizing letters in the English language – _no_. He felt disappointment start to grey the edges of his thoughts. It was silly; he had asked her fully expecting her to laugh and tell him to shove off. But it was that little niggling shred of hope that had wiggled its way into his mind and was now making everything ten times more difficult.

"Of course," he said with a smile, hoping she didn't notice that it was strained.

"I just need to think about it," said Hermione quietly.

"Sure, of course, that-, that's fine," he said quickly. He stood up, feeling a little awkward. "Well, I should let you get back to your tea and such. Let me know, alright?" he said as he hurried to her front door.

"George, I—"

"Think about it," he said with a smile that was too bright before stepping out of the door and shutting it quickly behind him.

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Hermione frowned at the door, behind which the sound of quick footfalls was becoming fainter. She sat back down to read and reached for her tea, but it was cold. She did a quick warming spell, but she was no longer interested in drinking. She picked up her book and started reading but her eyes wouldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting back to George and his strange proposal.

Why in the world would he want _her_ to work in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with him? And not just as a sales person, as a product designer! It seemed ludicrous. He had teased her for years about being stuffy and too obedient to the rules, while she had hounded the twins and scolded them for their immaturity, their lack of safety, and their complete negligence when it came to rules. Sure, what they created was incredible, and she did respect them for that, but respect and compliance with their actions were two different things.

Of course she shouldn't take the job. It was ridiculous. Her working in a joke shop? It was a joke in itself.

She shook her head and smiled slightly at her folly as she picked up her book. The mystery of the murdered artist, with three of his family members as possible sus—

George had talked about Fred.

Hermione set down her book again as she thought about this fact. George had been a wreck, as expected, after the War, but about five or six months in, George started making progress. He got back to inventing for the shop. He talked more, laughed more, came back to more of who he had been before. The sunken bags under his eyes started to disappear as the unhealthy grey tint that lack of sleep and depression had given his skin began slowly disappearing. But he still didn't talk about Fred to people unless it was necessary. Sure, the family talked about him, but George usually stayed quiet or just added a few words here and there. The fact that he couldn't help but tense up anytime someone mentioned Fred's name showed that, despite how happy and back-to-normal he seemed, there was no getting back to the "old George."

So the fact that George had willingly talked about Fred to her was important. And the fact that he admitted his weakness and asked for help all in the same sitting? It was shocking. Hermione felt a twist of guilt in her stomach. She really should help him, if it means this much to him and to Fred. But it didn't seem right. Working at the Ministry was something she _knew_ how to do. Jumping into a new job and a new environment blindly with no knowledge? It was like those horrid flying lessons or first-year Divination classes all over again – terrifying and seemingly a stupid decision.

She wouldn't do it.

She couldn't do it.

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Hermione rubbed her face and inhaled deeply through her nose. Calm. She needed to stay calm. It was fine. The proposal she had put in for changing the legislation on the treatment of House Elves was being sent to the next level of approval, but her report on goblin-wizard relations in France had been hacked apart and used to promote the exact thing she had been arguing about. It was absolutely infuriating that they could—

But she needed to stay calm. She would be fine. It was just a bad day, that's all.

She stood and arched her back in a desperate attempt for a stretch, her dress robes weighing her arms down as she reached up. She grabbed her rolls of parchment from her desk and walked out of her cubicle, ready to go talk to her boss about the meeting he had sent her on regarding Merpeople. She turned a corner and her senses were immediately assaulted. She felt the burn and the wetness of hot coffee sloshing onto her chest and neck, the impact of a big body crashing into hers, heard the shouts of surprise and frustration from herself and the other person, and the smells of bad cologne, coffee, and wet parchment mingled in the air. She looked around to see Dobson, a man from the Goblin Liaison office, looking startled and searching in his robe pockets for his wand. She let out a hiss of pain as she pulled out her wand and, in a mere second, cleaned up the mess and dried her reports. Dobson gave her a surprised look before giving her a small nod and walking away. Hermione grumbled to herself about people not having manners anymore and not apologizing or saying thank you, but hitched a smile on her face when she reached her boss' office.

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She hurried back to her office. She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take the frustration, the lack of understanding or empathy the department had for magical creatures, their lack of appreciation for their employees' work, or for the general air of morose drudgery that hung about the place like a thick miasma, turning everything you looked at grey. She had just been given a "good job" after two minutes of skimming for a report she had spent weeks slaving over. She couldn't take this atmosphere, this lack of care for quality, anymore.

She looked around and decided to worry about the state of her office later. She grabbed her bag and hurried out to the lifts, running to catch one right before it closed. She hurried through the queue for the apparition spot, and, when it was her turn, turned on the spot with a small _crack!_

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George heard the slight creaking of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' front door opening as a new customer walked in.

"Be with you in just a minute," he called cheerily.

He finished the transaction with the young girl in front of him who had bought itching powder to use on her bully at school (he had given her an extra bottle of it free as a little gift to really show those bullies that she was not to be messed with) and smiled as she hurried around the counter to give him a quick hug and a quiet _thank you_. He hugged her back before sending her on her way, slipping a Chocolate Frog in her coat pocket for good luck.

He looked around for the new customer and was surprised to see Hermione hurry up to him.

"Hermione," he said with a grin, "to what do I owe the pl—"

"I'll do it," she said quickly. "I'll come work here."


	3. Chapter 3

He looked around for the new customer and was surprised to see Hermione hurry up to him.

"Hermione," he said with a grin, "to what do I owe the pl—"

"I'll do it," she said quickly. "I'll come work here."

George stared at her, startled. "You—, what?"

"I decided I'm taking up your offer. I'll come work with you."

"Wait…really?"

"Yes, really."

"How did you decide this so suddenly?"

Hermione smiled. "Problems with work. I had an awful day and I just thought, 'Well, if my boss is this bad, there's no way George could be any worse.'"

"Oi!"

Hermione laughed. "So is the offer still on the table?"

George grimaced. "Oh, I'm sorry, but that position has already been filled. We do have forms you can fill out for when there's another— OW!" George rubbed his arm where Hermione had punched him and grinned. "Of course it's still available. And I wouldn't be your boss, Hermione. I'd be your partner."

George faltered when he saw the look of mingled amusement and surprise on Hermione's face, her eyebrows rising slightly.

"Partners as in the business, not, you know, like partners, like…_partners_," he said hurriedly.

Hermione laughed. "Alright then. I have one thing to take care of back at the Ministry but then I'm yours."

A wicked grin played on George's lips. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh you know what I mean," she huffed.

George laughed and waved her off as the front door's bell tinkled and a couple teenagers walked in.

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Hermione walked into her office. She pulled a piece of parchment from her desk and transfigured it into a large box. With a wave of her wand, all of her belongings flew into the air and arranged themselves neatly inside the box. Smiling slightly, she sat down at her bare desk, pulled another piece of parchment from the drawer, took out her self-inking quill, and began to write.

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Hermione rapped her knuckles on the office door.

"Come in!" Mr. Martin half-yelled from the other side. Hermione walked in, her back straight and her nerves steeled. "Hermione," Mr. Martin said. "You were just in here a few hours ago. Do you have something new to report on the Oarkenlock case?"

"No, sir," she said, a polite smile plastered onto her face. "I actually have something else I need to give you. It's just in." She stepped forward and handed him an official-looking document.

"And what's this?" he asked as his eyes scanned the parchment.

"My resignation."

Mr. Martin spluttered for a moment while Hermione looked on calmly. "Why are you resigning? You're the best we've got here."

"Well, it never felt like you thought that. And now there's someone who appreciates my talents and offered me a better position. And I took it." There was a pause as Mr. Martin's eyes flicked between her signature at the bottom of the page and at Hermione's face. "Have a nice day, Mr. Martin."

She smiled and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her. She paused for a moment, letting the moment wash over her before she let out a happy giggle and bounced up and down, waving her arms over her head in a kind of happy dance. She opened her eyes, mid-bounce, and saw one of the older clerks in the office watching her, slightly alarmed.

"Nargles," she said quickly. "Dratted things."

She gave him a quick smile, picked up her box that she had left outside the office, and hurried to the lifts.

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Hermione walked back into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and headed over to where George was refilling a shelf with more boxes.

"Hello."

George looked over and frowned. "Nope. Go home."

Hermione spluttered in surprise and indignation. "Excuse me?"

"Go home and change. There are no work robes allowed here. Only casual wear."

Hermione just stood there, very confused, before George walked over and pulled her by the wrist through the store and into the back room.

"You can use this floo to go to and from. Just say 'Workshop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.' Now go. And don't dawdle. You've got a big first day ahead of you." He grinned at her, gave her a little push on her back, and then left to go out to the front of the shop.

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George grinned to himself as he walked back out to the front of the shop. It had been hard not to burst into laughter at Hermione's indignant reaction when he had shut her down before she could say more than _hello_. She had been so completely thrown off by the whole situation that he half-expected to still see her standing there stunned, staring at his fireplace if he walked back into his office now. Although he had played it off, he had honestly been stunned when Hermione had practically stormed into the shop and accepted his job offer only a day after he had given it. When she had said she would _think about it_, he had expected at least a week. Hermione had never seemed the impulsive one, the one who would change jobs on a whim, and that was one of the main reasons why he had thought that his plan on having her come to work with him would never work. So the fact that she had shown up, box of belongings in hand, having officially quit her job (she hadn't said as much, but he could tell) was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Looking around at the quiet store (it was a Tuesday, after all), he remembered something he needed to do. He summoned a piece of parchment from the back office and caught it as it zoomed forward. He pulled out a quill and wrote:

_Lee,_

_I think I found a solution to our Pin Problem. But you might not like it too terribly. Or you might like it but think it won't work. I convinced Hermione to come work with me._

_Yes, THAT Hermione Granger._

_No, I am not joking._

_No, I have not been smoking gillyweed._

_Yes, I do think this is a good idea. _

_Why? Because she's brilliant at Transfiguration and I was going mad working here by myself. The customers were going to start thinking I'm a loony for talking to myself._

_So anyways, stop interrupting my letter with your outbursts and finish reading this. I'm hoping it will go well. She should be coming over soon to start learning about the inventory and such before I have her take a look at our problem products. _

_And yes, I will update you on how it goes. And no, she is not going to castrate me, how dare you even think such a thing. _

_You're a horrible friend. _

_Stop laughing._

_And yes, I knew exactly what you were going to say. A sign we've been friends for far too long for it to be healthy. Now piss off, you berk, and stop laughing your head off. The Irish probably think you're mad enough as it is. _

_George_

George grinned at his letter before folding it up and whistling. Boreas, his barn own, soared down from one of the store's rafters and landed gracefully on his shoulder, his claws digging into George's shoulders in a gesture of greeting.

"Hello there," said George with a smile. He pulled an owl treat from the jar under the front desk and threw it high in the air. Boreas shot into the air and caught it in his beak before coming to rest on the register and swallowing his prize. George grabbed a string and tied it to his owl's leg. He stroked his feathers a few times before he said quietly, "Bring this to Lee Jordan, alright? He's in Ireland right now."

Boreas tilted his head, watching George intently for a moment before he took off and out the small window George had installed high up in the rafters for the owl to come and go as he pleased. George watched him fly out the window just as he heard the rushing noise of the floo behind him. He turned just in time to see Hermione stepping out of the back office, dressed in some jeans, a light jumper, and some worn trainers. Her hair, to his amusement, was still up in its professional-looking updo.

"Ah, now that's better, isn't it?" he said.

She smiled and bit her lip nervously. "Well, it's a lot more comfortable."

"There's just one thing wrong."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together in worry. He grinned and, without saying a word, the many clips that had been holding her hair together flew out and clattered to the ground. Her ridiculous curls tumbled down, as if relieved by their sudden freedom. She jumped when it happened and immediately blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't help it, he started laughing, which earned him a glare. He was starting to think that that was going to be a very regular thing with them now.

"I hired the bushy-haired prefect, not the prim and proper Ministry worker," he said seriously before dodging the hair clip she had thrown at his head. "Oi! That's no way to treat your new boss!"

"I thought you said you weren't my boss," she said, one eyebrow arched and her arms crossed.

"Good point! Well, as your new _coworker_, I believe I need to introduce you to the store."

"What do you mean? I've been to the store loads of times before," she called after him as he walked into the back office. She frowned when he walked back, a decent-sized book in his hands. "What's that?"

"This, my dear girl, is the entirety of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' inventory, with details on what each product does, which spells, potions, ingredients, et cetera goes into each one." Hermione's eyes widened as he continued. "It's helpful for us if we ever discontinue something and demand calls for us to bring it back."

"How many products are in here?" she asked warily, eying the magenta tome.

"Oh nothing terrifying, just a thousand or so," he said airily.

He watched as Hermione blanched. She looked up with wide, terrified eyes to see his amused expression, and her face immediately arranged itself into one of its classics: unamused frustration with just a dash of exasperation. He grinned as her lips pursed and her arms crossed, her hip jutting out as she stared him down.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," he said quietly, but she still heard him and glared harder, if that was possible. "Calm down, alright? There are one hundred and fifty two products in there. That's it. Honestly."

Hermione stared down at the book and then back at him. "That's amazing," she whispered, more to herself, it seemed, than to George. George smiled and decided to conveniently not hear it, for Hermione's sake. "So, why do you need me to look at this?"

"Well, you need to know what we've done so you can see where we'll go, don't you agree?"

Hermione smiled at him. "George, that's a highly logical way of looking at it."

"I don't like how surprised you sound, Granger," he said, wagging a finger at her.

She laughed and pushed his hand away. "Alright, so where can I sit?"

George opened his arms in a grand gesture. "Pick a spot, in the front, in the back, doesn't matter. Wherever you please. This is your home now, not that nasty Ministry cubicle."

Hermione smiled and started walking around the store, hugging the inventory book to her chest. George watched her, smiling slightly as she wove her way through the aisles and displays. He wasn't sure how this was going to go, but he hoped they were off to a good start.

.

.

"This is your home now, not that nasty Ministry cubicle."

As Hermione walked about the store, she thought about those words. Working at WWW was the absolute opposite side of the spectrum from the shades of grey and black the Ministry had provided. Everything here was bright and obnoxious, with posters and products hanging from the ceiling, and large displays making the walkways snake through the shop, a labyrinth of inventions and time-wasters. It was going to take a while to adjust to this, but she hoped it would work out for the best.

She wandered through the shop, taking time to look at interesting or unfamiliar products before finding a green armchair tucked into a back corner of the store. She dragged it out so she could still use the light from the high windows. She folded herself into the old, beaten chair and began to read.

_U-NO-POO._

_The constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!_

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a _long_ day.


	4. Chapter 4

George was coming down the back stairs when he heard the rushing noise of the floo in his workshop. He grinned and started to walk back, checking his watch as he did so. Eight a.m. on the dot. She was so predictable it was almost laughable.

"Morning!" he called as he walked in to meet her.

"Morning!"

"Are you ready for a big week?" he asked as he walked into the workshop to find Hermione hanging up her coat and bag, her WWW badge already affixed to her jumper.

"Umm I suppose. Why is it—" She faltered, then the realization hit. "Oh no. It's the week of Valentine's Day! That's why you had me brewing all those love potions!" George's eyes sparkled with amusement. His head tilted to the side slightly as he watched Hermione fret, as she was wont to do. "Am I going to have to work the register? Ugh, I don't want to deal with all those silly teenage girls giggling and tittering. Can't I just stay in the back and restock or work on that pin or something? I mean, that's why you hired me, and you have yet to show me it. Couldn't I just—"

"And what would the fun in that be? No, you have to have the full Weasley's Wizard Wheezes experience before you allowed to work on the new products."

"The full experience? I've been working here for a week now. I've memorized the inventory, the layout, and how every product is made. Why are you punishing me like this?"

"Because I didn't get to see you deal with Ron and LavLav in school," George said with a wicked grin. "I would have paid money to see that. And now, I suppose I am."

Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth to respond when a bell tinkled, signaling their first customer of the day. George looked at her expectantly. Hermione made a face at him before hurrying out to the front of the store, her smile audible as she said, "Good morning. Can I help you with anything?"

.

.

She heard the twittering before she even saw the bodies attached to the noise.

"Oh my Merlin, I can't believe you're going to do this. Do you think it will work?"

"Jenny said she used it when she first liked Martin, and they've been dating for over a year now. It has to work."

Hermione was ringing up a boy, about sixteen years old, who was buying one of George's new fake Valentine's Day cards, which covered an array of surprises, from rude messages to cards that sang obnoxiously and endlessly until it was February 15th. Apparently, he had gotten the inspiration from Ginny's card to Harry her first year, a faux pas that he would never let her live down. She put the card (which shot a cloud of glitter into the air when opened) into a bag and smiled at the boy.

"Have a nice day," she said.

As he walked out, she turned towards the register, hoping that if she looked busy enough, the girls wouldn't stop to ask her the same questions she had been getting for two days now. She counted out the money in the till slowly, looking as focused as possible.

"Um, do you work here?" the first girl asked.

Hermione was tempted to say "No, I just wear obnoxious magenta badges as a fashion statement," but summoned up the good businesswoman inside of herself and smiled.

"Yes, I do. Can I help you with anything today?"

"Where are the love potions?"

Hermione's hands surreptitiously clenched around the wood edge of the desk. She smiled and pointed to a large sign hanging from the ceiling pointing up the stairs that read _WonderWitch Love Potions_.

"If you follow that sign, you'll find them."

"Do they actually work?" asked the second girl abruptly.

"Yes;" Hermione quoted for what felt like the fiftieth time that week, "effective for up to twenty-four hours depending on the weight of the boy and the attractiveness of the girl. Make sure not to use more than one bottle in forty-eight hours."

The girls smiled at each other and gave a squeal of excitement before heading up to the stairs.

"You're welcome," Hermione whispered as she rolled her eyes. She turned back to the table and saw a young man, probably about her age, who she had helped earlier. He had been looking for a prank gift for his sister, and had let slip at least twice that he had no girlfriend while he stood a little too close to Hermione as she walked around the store with him. He set something on the counter and smiled at her.

"Oh, so you decided on a Blaze Box? Very nice choice," she said. "That will be five galleons."

As he finished paying, he leaned a little on the counter and smiled at her. "So, are you doing anything on Valentine's Day?"

"Yes, she is," said a deep voice behind her. Hermione and the man both turned their heads to see George standing behind Hermione, slinging his arm around her shoulders and pulling her slightly to his chest. "Have a nice day. Come back soon."

The man must have sensed the tone of finality in George's voice, because he grabbed his products and left. George frowned at his retreating back.

"Sorry about that. We had a problem with overly forward male customers when Verity worked here as well. She used to tease me, call me the 'guard dog' of the shop."

"Well, thank you," said Hermione. "I appreciate it. He's the fifth this week alone."

"That's what I get for hiring attractive women, I suppose," George said with a grin.

Hermione blushed. Just as realized George's arm was still slung around her shoulders, he removed it.

"Oh bollocks, two girls are fighting over the last bottle – _ladies, there are more bottles I can get in the back for you _– I'll be right back."

Hermione watched as George weaved his way through the products and towards the catfight, another bottle of WonderWitch Love Potion already in his hand. She smiled to herself and walked over to a little boy who was bouncing on tiptoe, trying to get to a Rubby O'Chicken that was hanging on a line a meter above his head.

"Hello there," she said, sinking down into a squat. "Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

His little pout turned into a shy smile as she spoke to him. She smiled back; little things like this made the customer service bearable.

.

.

"Alright. The moment has come."

"You are so overdramatic."

"There is no such thing as overdramatic."

"Says the man who created a week-long fireworks display and a swamp in a school hallway when you decided to drop out."

"I regret nothing, and you know that."

"Oh, just get on with it, will you?"

"Alright, alright, you downer." Hermione just crossed her arms and looked at him pointedly. "So Fred had this idea for a pin that would change the appearance of your clothes when you wanted them to. Like a Metamorphmagus, but with clothing instead of your body. The problem is, we never got to finish it. And kind of…backfired."

"What do you mean, 'backfired'?" Hermione asked warily.

"It doesn't do anything it's supposed to. Watch."

Hermione heard the _click_ of a lock unlatching as George reached for the desk drawer. His fingers wrapped around the handle and he opened the drawer slowly. In a flash, a glint of silver shot out and started ricocheting around the room at top speed. Hermione's eyes flicked around the room and landed on a couple poster tubes George had yet to unpack. She heard a whizzing noise and looked up in time to see the pin shooting directly towards her face. She snatched up one of the tubes and swung it with both arms. It connected with the tube with a _crack!_ and flew towards the door, where George caught it before it could head out into the main store.

"Looks like you would have made a good beater if it wasn't for that whole 'fear of flying' problem you've got," said George. He held out the pin, pinched between his fingers, for her to look at.

It was a small circular pin, something you would put on the lapel or collar of a blazer, with "WWW" etched lightly into the center. Off of the center was the needle that was unlatched from the back and tipped with red. It took Hermione a moment to realize that there were small red rivulets running along the lines of George's hand.

"Merlin! You ha—"

"It's fine," interrupted George, pulling his hand away from her reach.

"No it's not! You're bleeding!"

Hermione shot her hand forward, her fingers wrapping around the troublesome pin. She closed it and set it under the heavy inventory book before turning back to George. She could hear it vibrating, desperate to get out. Her hand wrapped around the back of his as she pulled it forward and inspected it. When George had caught the pin, the needle, it seemed, had sunk deep into his hand. As she turned the hand to see it better in the light, George hissed in pain and grimaced. Hermione _tsk_ed quietly, but cleaned the hole in his hand before healing it, watching the skin sew itself back together.

"There," she said with pleased finality.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

She smiled up at him for a moment before they both seemed to realize that she was still holding his hand. Hermione dropped his hand quickly, ignoring the heat that was starting to prickle along her cheeks. George smiled and rubbed the back of his neck with his newly-healed hand.

"So," he said, his shoulders hunched in embarrassment, "as you can see, I haven't really been able to fix it yet. Or find out what's wrong with it."

"And that's where I come in, yes?" George nodded. "Alright. I'll take a look at it and see what I can find. Do you have notes on what you'd already done?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said George quickly, hurrying over to the surprisingly full shelf and pulling out a blue roll of parchment. Seeing the look on her face, George added, "So we wouldn't lose it."

He started handed it to her, but pulled it back just before her fingers had wrapped around it.

"Now you be good to this. This was Fred's pet project."

"I promise I'll be careful," she said, reaching out for the roll, but he pulled it out of her reach again.

"You have to say it."

"I'm not going to say it," Hermione huffed.

"Say it."

"No."

"Say it."

"I can't."

"Say it."

"Why?"

"Because it means you're truly ready to take on this project. But it's not something said lightly. This is serious business. So you have to say it, and you have to _mean_ it."

George watched her carefully as she fidgeted and bit her lip. As he did, she saw the corners of his mouth droop from their ever-present smile as the brightness of his cerulean eyes dim.

"George, I—"

"It's okay if you can't yet," George said quietly.

Hermione heard the sadness in his voice and knew that this was no longer a joke. This was a huge moment for George, an important moment. He had asked her to work with him, had taken her on and trained her to be, essentially, Fred's and Lee's replacement. That couldn't have been an easy decision, but he had made it to make sure his brother's dreams had lived on. She couldn't let him down after all the trust he had put into her with accepting him into a world she had tried to impede for years. She looked up into the face that, for just that moment, looked like the boy they had all lived with that first year after the war, and put a hand gently on his arm.

"George?" He looked up at her questioningly. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

George's face split into a wide grin and he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug before stepping back.

"Well, in that case," he said, handing over the blue parchment roll, "Hermione Granger, you are officially a product designer for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this is a short chapter, but I wanted to make sure I got something up because it's been so long since I posted. I hope you like it. - Cat**

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When Hermione had told Harry and Ron about her new job, she had expected they would laugh. She was not let down in the slightest.

"Y-you, m-making pranks?" Ron howled. "That's rich. That's rich."

He continued to roll on the ground, clutching his stomach, as Harry laughed from the chair across from her, eyes scrunched closed.

"It's not _that_ funny, you two," she sighed, frustrated.

"No, it's not funny," said Harry seriously, or as seriously as he could while he fought to keep a straight face.

"No, it's bloody _hilarious_," finished Ron. Both burst into renewed fits of laughter.

"Why? Why is this so impossible to grasp? I was miserable at my last job and George offered me this one because I'm good at Transfigurations. It makes sense."

"Hermione, Harry working as an Auror makes sense. Me working for the Chudley Cannons makes sense. You working for George at the joke shop? That's just ironic."

"Wow, I'm impressed you even know what 'ironic' means," Hermione snapped. Ron just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. It was quite aggravating for Hermione that they knew her so well that her cutting comments were now laughed off; it made being mad at her best friends all the more frustrating and fruitless. "Well, thank you so much for your support, boys," she said sarcastically as she moved to get up from her squashy armchair in Grimmauld Place's sitting room. "It makes me feel so much better knowing my best friends support me in my new career choice."

"Oh, don't be like that, Hermione," said Harry with a light laugh. "We're just thrown for a bit of a loop. I mean, can you expect us to _not_ be surprised that you're now working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? It's like a bad joke." Hermione's eyes widened and she gave a huff of frustration. "Oh c'mon Hermione," Harry said as he and Ron chased after her as she stormed towards the front door. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, he just means that it's like a really, really funny joke," sniggered Ron.

Harry worked to keep his face straight but a snort of laughter escaped. Hermione glared at them as she wrenched open the front door.

"You two are real tossers, you know that?"

Hermione could hear them cracking up as she turned on her heel, but with a _crack!_, she was gone.

.

.

.

That night, at the Weasley family dinner, to which attendance was decreed mandatory by Molly Weasley, Ron brought up the topic at the table as everyone was just starting to eat.

"So, our Hermione told me and Harry today that she got a new job."

The rest of the family looked pleased, but Hermione shot Ron a death glare from across the table.

"Finally stopped at the Ministry, did you?" asked Bill. "It's a shame someone else got you before I could make you come interview for a job at Gringots. You'd be brilliant as a curse breaker."

"That's great, Hermione," said Ginny happily. "I know how miserable that department job was for you."

"So what's your new job?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione glared at Harry and Ron, who were looking as smug as Crookshanks did when he caught a gnome, before glancing at George, who had been strangely silent throughout the conversation.

"I-, uhh—"

"She's working with me," said George quickly. "I convinced her to come work as a prank designer."

There was a beat of silence as seemingly everyone at the table looked shocked or surprised before working hard to keep a straight face. Ginny let out a little giggle, and the dam broke. All the Weasley kids, sans George and Percy, were howling with laugher, and even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cracked a smile. After the group had a good laugh, Charlie spoke up, still half-laughing.

"No, but really, Hermione, where are you working now?"

There was a beat of silence as Hermione frowned at Charlie, confused and slightly hurt. "At Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. With George."

Some of the laughter died out, and the moment was sufficiently awkward.

"Well, good for you," piped up Mrs. Weasley. "I think that's a wonderful idea. I'm sure you'll do quite well there. Won't she, Arthur?"

"Oh, oh yes," chimed in Mr. Weasley, startled into speaking. "Wonderful."

"But it's like, well, _Percy_ working at the shop," said Ginny, her eyes dancing with mirth. "It's just so contrary."

That earned a glare from Percy, who spoke up quickly. "I think it's a clever decision on George's part. Who better to have on your side than the person who always tried to ban the pranks? Right good move on your part, I say."

George frowned. "That's not why—"

"Excuse me," whispered Hermione as she quickly got up from the table and headed out towards the living room. George's words halted as all the eyes followed her out. George quickly pushed his chair out and hurried after her, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the table in general as he went.

George wove through the chairs and couches in the living room, maneuvered his way through the minefield of dirty wellies that littered the mudroom, and stepped out onto the back steps, where Hermione sat. He heard a quick intake of breath as he opened the door, and watched as her shoulders tensed up as he shut it and sat down next to her.

"Don't let them upset you, Hermione," he said quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione quickly wipe her face with her fingers.

"I'm not upset," she said, her calm voice betrayed by a slight waver. He gave her a sideways look, one eyebrow raised, and she gave a soft laugh, rubbing her face with her palms. "Alright. I'm upset then."

"You can't let them get to you. Do you think I'd be anywhere close to where I am now if I'd actually listened to my mother and what she thought about the joke shop?" Hermione laughed. "No, really, you just have to ignore them. I think what you did was very brave, to take the step into a job that goes against what you believed in growing up."

"But me working there is to your benefit. You're biased."

"I'm not biased; I'm just lucky." Hermione gave him a questioning look. "I'm lucky you took a chance on me."

"But I haven't even done anything yet at the shop. What if I'm rubbish at it? What if-, what if they're right?" she asked quietly, finally looking up at George with big, tear-filled eyes. "What if I'm just meant to stay the rule-following, always-right—"

"You don't honestly believe them, do you?" asked George. Hermione faltered. "Do you think you can design and fix pranks?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered.

"Hermione Granger, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you never back down from a challenge. So if a room full of gits tell you can't do it, I would bet all the money in my vault at Gringots that you're gonna go and prove them wrong, just because you can."

Hermione smiled. "Did you just call your mother a 'git'?"

George chuckled. "Let's not tell her about that, yeah?"

Hermione laughed and leaned against George's side. They sat in silence, Hermione's head resting on George's shoulder.

"George," she said finally. He hummed in acknowledgement. "When did you stop being so immature?"

Hermione felt a chuckle ripple through his body, but he took a moment before he responded.

"Maybe when you started realizing maturity is overrated."

.

.

.

Hermione sped out of the back room of the shop to where George was arranging boxes for a new display of muggle magic tricks he and Lee had developed a month or so back.

"_George, you bloody great prat!_"

George grinned and looked around. Storming (he laughed internally at his unintentional pun) towards him was Hermione, sopping wet and red in the face. Above her hung a little black storm cloud, crackling with lightning and pouring down rain, which drenched Hermione, but dried as soon as it hit the ground.

"Hermione, are you alright? You're looking a little under the weather," he sniggered.

"What. The hell. Is this?" she said through clenched teeth.

"Just testing out a new product. Weasley's Wet Weather. Didn't you realize that the makers are always the first testers of the products?"

"Call it off."

"No."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, shocked. "Call it off, George."

"No."

"George!"

"I can't."

"_What?_"

The lightning in the cloud crackled ominously, and George gave it a wary glance. "Hmm, that's an interesting side effect."

"I'll give you an interesting side effect," Hermione muttered darkly as she walked back to the workshop.

"Be a dear and clean up, won't you? You're dripping on the floor," George called after her. He was too busy laughing to see the hex shooting towards him until it hit him smack in the face. He stopped laughing immediately as he felt his front teeth starting to grow past his bottom lip, inching towards his chin. "Uh, luw bluh, Humuhnee," he shouted around his teeth as he ran after her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** It's been a while, eh? But I'm back, and thrilled about it. I hope you guys like the new chapter, which is longer because you all deserved something extra for suffering through the hiatus!

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Hermione walked around her apartment, wondering what to do. She had been working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a month now, and she was still getting comments about her not fitting in or it being hilarious that she happened to work there, mostly from people she had gone to school with. Seamus Finnegan had had a good laugh with that one when he had come in to buy a birthday present for Dean Thomas.

"_Hermione Granger," he had said, his Irish accent curling and twisting around his words. "You can't seriously be working here. How have you not shut the store down yet for having too much fun or being too loud?"_

_Hermione frowned. "Can I help you with anything else?" she had asked briskly, fingertips drumming on the countertop. "Or would you like help finding another present for your boyfriend?" _

_Seamus' eyes had widened and he sputtered incoherently, the tips of his ears reddening._

"_That will be fifteen sickles, please," she said, eyebrow arched and lips pursed, practically daring Seamus to make another crack at her._

Ron and Harry found it especially funny, although Harry had admitted that he could partially understand George's reasoning for the hiring. Ron, however, just took it upon himself to constantly rehash how hilarious it was for George and Hermione to be working together.

_ "It's like if you two started dating,"_ Ron had sniggered a few days ago. _"It's just so ridiculously unlikely. I mean, could you find two people more opposite?"_

Hermione wasn't sure why this statement had been bothering her so much, but when he had said it, she had felt like a dog raising its hackles, insulted without knowing why. She wanted to show them that she was good at this, that she could do this and be as clever with the pranks as the twins or Lee had always been. A part of her felt that she probably needed to prove this to herself, just as much as everyone else. She wanted to know that she had made the right decision.

Something rubbed up against her leg, and she looked down. Her grey exotic shorthair, Digby, whose squashed little face had reminded her strongly of Crookshanks, was purring and winding himself around her legs. She crouched down and scratched him behind the ears, smiling as the purring got louder, like an engine revving up. She pulled her hand away and shook off the cat hair, which sailed slowly to the ground. It was then that she got an idea, a wonderful idea for her first solo product.

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George walked down the stairs from his flat and into the shop. He busied himself with unlocking the front door and turning on the lights, readying the shop for the morning customers. As he turned towards the back of the store, he noticed light pouring out from under the workshop door. Tilting his head, he headed towards the door silently. He pressed his ear to the door for a moment, but heard nothing but vague sounds of movement. He stood outside for a moment, deciding what his best option of entrance was. Finally, he knocked.

"Come in."

George turned the handle quietly, not sure why he felt like he was sneaking, intruding into the space. It was his workshop after all, but for some reason, it felt off. He opened the door and his eyes fell upon the sweater-clad back of Hermione Granger, who was huddled over a small cauldron from which steam was curling.

"Oh good. You're up," she said without even looking at him. She dipped a spoon into the cauldron and held it out for him. "Taste this."

"What? No."

"Taste it," said Hermione, finally turning around to look at him. Her eyes were rather bloodshot and there were definite bags under her eyes. Her bushy hair had been twisted and pinned with what looked like five, no, wait, six quills that had all been stuck in at odd angles.

"Hermione," he said carefully. "How long you been up for?"

"Twenty hours, give or take," she rattled off before pushing the spoon closer to his mouth. "Please try it."

"What's it going to do to me?" he asked warily.

"Nothing. It's the flavor base for something I'm working on. I just need to know the flavor's good."

George hesitated. He could feel a trap somewhere in this, but he didn't want to piss of an already-sleep-deprived Hermione. He took the spoon and looked at the toxic green liquid before him. This looked so unappetizing; it practically screamed _I'm dangerous! Don't drink me!_ He steeled himself for the worst and closed his lips around the spoon. He flinched immediately, but then realized there was nothing to flinch at. The liquid tasted…good. It tasted like a Sunday roast – warm, juicy meat; buttery Yorkshire pudding; rich gravy made from the drippings; that little bite from a fat crackling that snuck its way onto your plate. George was floored.

"Hermione, how the bloody hell did you do that?" he asked, gaping at her.

She watched with quiet pride, a small smile curling her lips. "You like it?" she asked cautiously.

"It's brilliant! It tastes like a whole meal. What's this for?"

"Something I've been working on for the shop. My own invention, with a little help from Ronald Dahl and my own experiences," she said with a sly smile.

George missed the reference, but was thrilled none the less. "When do you think it'll be done?"

"Sometime in this next week or so?" Hermione yawned.

The yawn reminded him of his original train of thought. "Hermione, you need to go home and sleep."

"But I'm almost done," she said weakly, gesturing to the organized mess of potion ingredients and quickly scrawled notes that covered the table.

"No. You need to go to sleep. Now." George fired a quick spell at the front of the store to lock the front door before walking over to his very sleepy partner. George grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her off the stool she had been sitting on, turned her, and walked her to the fireplace. "Hermione's apartment." He gave her a little push into the flames, where she stumbled slightly for a moment before spinning away in a whirl of emerald flames. He waited for the air to clear before he threw another pinch of Floo Powder into the flames and followed her.

When he stepped out of the flames, he bumped into Hermione, who seemed to be just standing aimlessly in the middle of her small sitting room, yawning and rubbing her eyes. He put an arm around her shoulders and started guiding her to the hallway that presumably led to her bedroom.

"It's the door on the left," she mumbled.

He pushed open the door and walked in. He had never spent time wondering what Hermione's bedroom would look like, but faced with it for the first time, he felt that this would have been exactly what he would have imagined. One whole wall, the one that faced the door, was just a ceiling-to-floor bookshelf. And not only was it filled, but there were books lined up on their sides, resting on what little was left of the shelf space. There was a bed, covered with a simple quilt and a few fluffy pillows, a closet and dresser, and a beaten up old arm chair that looked suspiciously like the squashy one everyone had always fought over in the Gryffindor common room.

George led her over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Hermione kicked off her trainers and immediately crawled into her bed, pulling the covers back over her. George flicked his wand at the windows, the blinds of which immediately closed, submerging the room into darkness. He smiled and moved forward. He hesitated for a moment before reaching his hand out to stroke her hair.

"Sleep good, Hermione," he whispered, but she was already asleep.

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.

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Hermione arrived with a _crack!_ outside the Burrow. She took a deep breath in and smiled. She loved how it always smelled here, like warm grass, cold air, and the spicy scents of food being made. Stepping forward, she checked her jeans pocket to make sure her bottle was there, then knocked on the door and waited. The door flew open seconds later.

"Hermione! You're early. I wasn't expecting you until dinnertime, love," said Mrs. Weasley cheerily, giving her a warm hug before ushering her inside the house.

"Well, I didn't have much to do at the shop, it being Sunday and all, so I came by to offer any assistance you might need for cooking dinner tonight."

"Oh, aren't you a dear! I could definitely use a hand in the kitchen. You know this lot, always scarpering off when I ask for help peeling or mashing."

Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen, pulling off her sweater as she did so and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. Mrs. Weasley handed her a spare apron and set her to doing the _mise en place_ for the roast and mashed potatoes they would have that night.

.

.

.

George stepped out of the fireplace and immediately, the smells of dinner being prepared overwhelmed his other senses. He breathed it in for a moment, just enjoying it, before starting to look around. No one was in the living room but, knowing his family, there were partaking of the crisp air that accompanied the beginnings of dusk falling. He headed out towards the yard, but slowed as he reached the kitchen in order to say hello to his mum. He walked through the doorway and his eyes immediately fell on flushed cheeks and messy curls that were falling from an updo.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from her pot, where she was dutifully mashing boiled potatoes by hand, her wand stuck haphazardly into her bun. "'lo, George," she said cheerily.

"Why are you in the kitchen?"

"I'm practicing my flying. Why do you think I'm in here? I'm helping your mum cook dinner."

George rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the sarcasm."

"Anytime," she replied in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, you two!" said Mrs. Weasley, bustling back into the kitchen from the dining room. "I would say 'I'm surprised you two get any work done with how you quibble' if I hadn't seen this same dynamic with Lee and the twins for years." She bumped her son with her hip as she passed him. "If you're going to stand here sniping with Hermione, you might as well be useful. Go put the silverware on the table."

Hermione giggled and George stuck his tongue out at her, prompting Hermione to roll her eyes. Mrs. Weasley just sighed good-naturedly and went to check on the pie in the oven.

.

.

.

Everyone sat down to dinner a little later, and it took a while for all the plates to get passed around, filled, and then arrive back at their respective owners. George, sitting between his father and his sister, was sitting a few seats away and opposite from Hermione, who was tucked between Charlie and Harry. She had been oddly quiet all evening, only chatting to Mrs. Weasley and himself in the kitchen, or speaking only when spoken to ever since everyone came inside. She was picking at her food too, pushing the food around her plate instead of eating it. He wondered if maybe it was because of how they had all teased her two weeks before about working at WWW.

He was about to say something to her, just to get her to say anything, really, when he felt a tickle in his throat. He coughed quietly, but it didn't seem to clear. He took a drink of his water, but his tongue felt oddly heavy in his mouth. He shivered slightly as a weird tingling sensation went up his neck. Suddenly, his mouth started…itching? Could your teeth actually itch? He opened his mouth wide, as if trying to stretch his jaw, but his skin felt prickly, like that taut pulling you feel when you try to move your skin after its been sunburned. He heard a kind of buzzing in his ear, and he shook his head, as if trying to swat away a bothersome fly. He raked his fingers through his hair, but it suddenly felt different; softer, fluffier. He pulled his hand away, and a few dark grey strands pulled away. Now he felt like really freaking out. How in the hell could he have grey hairs already? Finally, he looked around and saw everyone at the table making the same weird gestures and reactions. But everyone was not everyone.

They were all cats.

Well, the heads and necks were. George did what any rational person would do.

He screamed.

This set off a chain reaction, as everyone stopped being so absorbed with their own pain and realized what had happened to the others. Soon, everyone was in a tizzy.

"GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY," the grey Persian cat at the head of the table shrieked in his mother's voice.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU DONE THIS TIME?" roared a Maine Coon from the middle of the table. Was that Bill?

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. I SWEAR TO MERLIN—" shouted a Russian Blue in Ron's voice.

"IT'S NOT ME!" shouted George above everybody. "I didn't do this! I swear I didn't do this!"

"Oh right? Like this doesn't have you written all over it," snarled an orange Persian from next to him.

"If I did it, why the hell would I turn myself into a cat too? I'm not an idiot. It—wait, where's Hermione?"

Everyone's heads swiveled to Hermione's seat, which was empty.

"Where did—"

There was a burst of laughter from the kitchen door. All the ears turned towards the noise before their heads had even towards the door. There was Hermione, bright-eyed and laughing, with a completely human head, complete with bushy hair. Everyone just stared at her blankly for a minute.

"You," said a black British Shorthair, his green eyes wide.

"Yes. Me. You all laughed at me for joining George. Well, now the laugh's on you. I can make products just as well as Lee, and I can be just as sneaky as George." They still continued to stare, jaws hanging open. She pulled from behind her back a camera. "Smile!"

The bright flash is what set everything back into motion.

"So you did this, Hermione? You made this happen to us?" asked the Bengal who sat next to Hermione's empty chair. Hermione just smirked in response.

"Well," said the Toyger from the other head of the table, "I think we all owe Hermione an apology. Some of us more than others." He shot a serious look at the British Shorthair and the Russian Blue."

A chorus of "I'm sorry," "Sorry, 'Mione," "We're really sorry," and "I apologize" melded and danced in the warm hair. The Toyger looked at George expectantly.

"What?" he said. "Why would I apologize? I've had faith in Hermione since the beginning. I'm the one who begged for her to give me a chance. So you all can piss off." He laughed as his sister cuffed him around the head.

"You're going to turn us all back, I'm presuming?" asked a grey Peterbald. George had to give Hermione points for this – Percy's ever-present arrogance was even present as a cat.

"'Fraid not," said Hermione with a grin as she walked back to her seat at the table.

"What?" his family exclaimed. Ginny actually hissed. George could hardly restrain himself from laughing.

"It's mixed into the food. So I'd eat up if I were you. This isn't a meal you'll want leftovers of." She turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I'm sorry to trick you, Molly, but I needed to prove a point. I swear I'll help next week and I promise I won't put anything in it then."

The Persian cat laughed. "We disrespected you and it was unfair. I think we all deserved this." She turned her head and addressed the whole table. "You heard her, then! Eat up!"

Everyone laughed and continued dinner, all the while trying to adjust to putting things in feline jaws.

.

.

.

Hermione went around, giving everyone hugs goodbye.

"Don't worry, the effects wear off an hour after you've eaten it. So I'd say about an hour from now and you'll all be back to normal."

Ron clapped her on the back and Harry pulled her into a hug.

"I can't believe you got us all so good," said Harry with a grin that was unintentionally menacing, given all his sharp teeth.

"And Mum isn't even mad at you! That's better than Fred and George ever got," said Ron. George, who was pulling on his coat next to them, scoffed. "I'm sorry we doubted you, 'Mione. You're brilliant, as always. And what a throwback to second year, eh?"

Hermione laughed and pulled Ron into a hug before heading out the door.

"Bye, you lot," George called over his shoulder. He jogged a couple paces and caught up to Hermione. "Well played, rookie," he said as he bumped his shoulder into hers.

Hermione smiled shyly and looked up at him, nervousness showing on her face for the first time all night. "You really think so?"

"Oh yeah, it's wicked."

Hermione smiled. She had wanted to prove everyone wrong, but she had wanted so desperately to impress George, to show him that he had bet on the right person. She grinned as George slung his arm around her shoulder as they walked slowly in the yard, both seeming to ignore the cold and the aimlessness. She could have apparated a ways back, but she preferred where she was right now.

"So that's why you made it taste like a Sunday roast, eh? So it would blend in with the food perfectly. And you offer to help cook and _voil_à, it's hidden. That's a pretty devious plan, Granger. You've done well. Fred would have been proud."

Hermione could feel her nose starting to tingle and her eyes starting to prickle. "Really?" she whispered, trying hard to keep her voice level.

"Most definitely," he said with a quick squeeze of her shoulders. They walked around in silence for a moment before George spoke up once again. "So I was able to recognize a few of the cat breeds, but which one am I? How did it work that they were all different?"

"I made it so that it can personalize. It's hard to explain. But it seemed to work out well. You happened to turn out as my favorite breed of cat – a Scottish Fold. Their ears crinkle so it looks like they don't have any." She giggled and slipped from his grip as she waited for that one to land.

"Don't have any—, oh Hermione, that's cold," said George slowly, finally putting the pieces together. He shot towards Hermione, who cackled and started to run. He ran after her, his outstretched fingertips just barely missing the long hair that was being tossed by the night air.

"You little—"

But with a _crack!_, she was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione's morning started with a slow clap.

Well, actually, it started with hot shower, a nice cuppa with a breakfast of toast with jam (her mum had just sent it to her, made with berries from her garden), and a glance at the Quibbler (_Have the Gringotts Curse Breakers found a worm hole to Ancient Egypt? We've got the whole story!_), as well as the Daily Prophet (_V_e_nomous Tentacula in Muggle Plant Shop; 12 Casualties_). Then she threw on some jeans and her _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ shirt, wrestled her bushy hair into a bun, grabbed her bag, and made her way to her fireplace.

As she walked out of the back workshop and into the main store, she heard the clapping. Slow. Ringing. Deliberate. Cocking her head to the side in an effort to hear the source of the noise, she walked around a tall display case of Anti-Gravity Hats (_Ruin a gentleman's day by making his hat fly away!_) and was faced with a headless body.

Now, Hermione had gotten used to the constant squeaking of the Pygmy Puffs, the daily stepping on spilled goop from the trick wands or the Happy Bubble Boxes on which the over-eager customers had trampled, and a lot of other odd things that were just part of daily life at the WWW main branch, but the one thing she was sure she would never get used to was a sight like this – a headless body, facing her, arms extended and slow-clapping, the weight shifted more onto one leg, jutting the hip slightly into a very relaxed, familiar position. She smiled nervously and walked slowly towards the body when it spoke from somewhere above the long, dark neck:

"Hermione Jean Granger – I never thought I'd see the day when our favorite swot pulled one over on George Weasley."

Hermione laughed as soon as she recognized the warm timbre of the voice that rounded out the letters of her name like they were a personal secret that he was sharing with her alone.

"Lee Jordan; I should have known you'd be dropping by. And how do you know my middle name?"

At the mention of his name, Lee whipped off the Headless Hat and sunk into a grand bow. He looked up, still in the bow, and winked at her.

"You _should_ have known," he said as he straightened up. "And how I know is unimportant. What _is_ important is that I've heard that my favorite prefect has been stirring up some trouble back in England." He pouted as he walked up to her. "You wait until I leave to show your true colors? That hurts, Hermione. You cut me deep."

Hermione laughed and walked forward, squeaking slightly as Lee scooped her into a hug and twirled her around. He dropped the top hat onto her head as he released her. She chuckled and removed it, placing it on top of a stack of boxed Sticky Trainers.

"Now that's a lie. I was no one's favorite prefect, least of all yours' and George's."

"And look where you are now – corrupted in all the best ways. Welcome to the club, lovely. The Marauders had their prefect; now we've got ours'."

Hermione ducked her head, trying to hide her suddenly watery eyes.

"So, what brings you here today, if not to give me a grand entrance?" she said hurriedly, turning to adjust a box and surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

Lee averted his eyes as she turned around, politely pretending he hadn't caught what she had been doing.

"Well, when someone turns Molly Weasley into a cat and walks out unscathed, I tend to be curious. You've got some real stones to pull something like that. I'm quite impressed, Granger. And, if I'm honest, a little jealous – being the twins' best friend set me up to being one of the suspected ones immediately."

"Is that true?" Hermione asked, unable – as usual – to simply take a compliment.

"The jealousy bit? Absolutely not. Why should I be jealous? I'm brilliant," he said with a grin and a wink. "But the rest is completely true; that was quite an impressive feat indeed. I wish I had been there to see it." They headed towards the front of the store as he talked, as it was almost time for the store to open. "But what I am mystified by is how you got each of them to turn into a different breed."

"I have the same query as well," floated down from higher in the store.

Hermione and Lee looked around to see George walking down the stairs from the floor above. He slid down the rest of the banister, complete with the little hop at the end, arms up, an Olympic gymnast who stuck the landing. Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes.

"So…how did you do it?"

Hermione hesitated, a part of her wanting to keep this a secret only she knew, but the encyclopedia of every product's ingredients and creation method was just in the desk a few feet from her.

"Bouncing Spider juice," she said finally.

They stared at her. George finished the mental calculations first.

"No. No, that wouldn't work…it'd be too unstable. You'd have to balance it with—"

"Flabbergasted Leeches," finished Hermione and Lee, who turned to Hermione in shock.

"That's brilliant! So the species would stay the same and the breed could change without causing any harm or aberrations." He turned to George, who was watching Hermione with a beaming smile. "You've got a good one here – don't you let her go."

Hermione blushed and laughed softly as George chuckled.

"Oh she's going nowhere," said George as he slung an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side in a quick squeeze.

Hermione could feel the heat prickling on her face and neck. She glanced up and saw Lee's eyes flicking between George and Hermione, a thoughtful yet curious look playing on his face before being replaced with his usual toothy grin. She suddenly had the feeling that Lee had just opened a door into the part of her mind where she pushed things away in the hopes that she could avoid ever dealing with them – a place where Lee or (and especially) George were not allowed to look. She felt George release her and start walking towards the front of the store, and it brought her back from her introspection. She blinked. Lee was still standing in front of her, watching her with a grin – the cat who'd caught the canary.

"Interesting," he whispered, purposefully drawing out the word.

"What's interesting?" she said a bit too quickly.

He chuckled softly. His eyes roved over her face. Hermione had the sense he could see exactly what she'd been forcing herself not to see, and that was a rather terrifying sense to have from someone as clever and potentially dangerous as Lee Jordan.

"I have an idea for a new product," he said loudly.

Hermione started slightly as the claustrophobic environment in which Lee had enveloped them shattered. Lee's usual mischievous grin was back in place and, with a wink, he headed to join George, who had just opened the shop for the day. Hermione stood stock still. She could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest, a frightened sparrow fighting against the bars of its cage. He couldn't know. He couldn't.

"Oh yeah?" she heard. "What's the idea?"

She hitched a smile back on and headed towards the front. Hearing the next few words from Lee seemed very important all of a sudden. Lee's eyes flicked between Hermione and George before landing back on George.

"I've got to do a bit more research before I come forward with it. But it's a good one."

"So, Lee," Hermione said, desperately wishing a customer would walk through the door just so she'd have something to take her away from Lee's piercing brown eyes, "how long are you around for? Just the day?"

"Nah. George and I decided to give the Dubliners a bit of a break. I'm here for the week."

George grinned. "That's brilliant, mate. We can always use an extra hand about the place, especially with Hermione's new product to start mass producing."

"Sounds great," said Hermione faintly.

A whole week with Lee Jordan and George Weasley.

Lee gave her a quick appraising look.

Oh, he absolutely knew that Hermione fancied George Weasley.

Bollocks.

.

.

.

She wasn't quite sure when she had started fancying George. It wasn't like those thunderclaps that hit and made you go _Aha! That's the bit I've been missing all my life – I fancy him!_ It wasn't even one of those relationships you always saw in books or muggle films, where the man and woman absolutely hate each other and fate keeps bringing them together, and then they realize that it somehow shifted and was love all along. It wasn't anything to write about – it had crept up on her slowly, so slowly, in fact, that this moment was the first time she had admitted it to herself.

Hermione had always found Fred and George attractive. But that proved nothing. Six years at Hogwarts had informed her fully that every girl with a pulse in the school and about a third of the boys as well had, at some time or another, fancied the Weasley Twins and their accomplice, Lee Jordan. Because it was almost so cliché, she had pushed it aside early on, not letting their bright eyes or their devilish grins, always accompanied with the roguish wink, faze her. When she had become a prefect, she suddenly was much more involved with the trio, but had blinders on to their charms, only able to focus on their rule-breaking. It had only been at holidays or summers with the Weasley family that had given her the opportunity to get to know Fred and George as friends, rather than as a colossal pain in the neck.

The War had changed them. Sadly, she only got to hear on the radio how they were doing, and by the time she got to see them all, the boy trio had become a broken duo. But out of the wreckage of the War had stepped a man. More reserved, more cautious. A man who had seen his worst fears realized. A man who had been ripped in half, never to be healed again. A man who still had the brightness and the mischief of his boyhood, but was, above all, a boy who had done a lifetime of growing in far too short a time, forced into manhood.

Hermione met that man and realized that, for the first time, she could connect with George Weasley. She, Ron, and _especially_ Harry had been forced into maturity and into danger far beyond their years, making them cling to each other, a refuge in the midst of the masses of kids still growing up at Hogwarts. She was faced with this new George Weasley, and found an ally, an old soul who, despite his pain and sadness, felt a compulsive need to make those around him smile.

She had joined the ranks of the pranksters for many reasons – to prove herself to others, to prove things to herself, to help a friend in need, to be free of a dull job. But a big part of why she joined up was because, in the past year of the wizard community trying to rebuild out of the wreckage Voldemort had caused, everyone had leaned on each other in a way that was unprecedented. Hope was a new-found blessing and joy had slowly started to take root, like wildflowers fighting their way through the ash after the forest fire. What George and Lee had fought to do in this past year was to expand, not in the interest of financial gains, but in the hopes that they could bring that childlike wonder and laughter back to everyone who had been scarred by the war. And Hermione could do with a little more laughter in her life.

George Weasley and Hermione Granger had become friends. Then, in a startling turn of events, they had become business partners. And somewhere along the way, amidst the laughter and the pranks and the late nights bent over cauldrons and the early mornings where they griped about how they should just shut the store and curl back into bed for a few more hours, Hermione had started to notice the color of George's eyes more, or how the freckles on his forearms seemed to make patterns if you connected the dots, or the way his shoulders tensed when he was faced with a tricky bit of designing, or the way his arm felt slung around her shoulder, or the way his face lit up when she managed to do something particularly impressive or amusing. And somewhere that was specifically this morning, facing a smirking Lee Jordan, she had realized that she was absolutely buggered.


	8. Chapter 8

That first day of having Lee over was relatively uneventful, but Hermione was waiting with baited breath for the other shoe to drop and all hell to break loose. She wasn't even sure what she was more nervous about – the fact that this would be the first time that Lee and George were together in the shop since she started working, the fact that they were trying to mass produce her first product, or that Lee clearly knew how Hermione felt about her boss, or rather, her partner. Business partner. Not the other type of—

"Hermione?"

Hermione shook herself slightly and turned from where she was restocking some products that had fallen off their shelves. She looked over to see George over towards the counter with four customers around him, all showing different levels of impatience. She hurried over, weaving through the displays and the many customers that filled the shop in the usual afternoon rush.

"Yes?"

"Can you look after the register while I help this lot out?"

"Of course."

George smiled and ruffled her hair genially. "You're the best." He grinned and disappeared into the mess of people that always filled the store as he led a couple customers towards the second floor.

Hermione went through three transactions (Eight Skiving Snackboxes just today already; Hermione shouldn't be surprised. September was fast approaching.) before she heard a quiet, smug voice behind her left ear.

"I thought you didn't like when people play with your hair."

Hermione turned her head to see Lee perched on the counter behind her like some kind of sprite, all wide, innocent eyes and sweet smiles. Hermione was about to respond when another customer came up to the till (four trick wands and one Blaze Box – Hermione estimated the girl's age at around fourteen, and immediately felt worried for the professors of Hogwarts this year.). She could feel Lee behind her, his eyes boring in the back of her head.

"Why don't you go and make yourself useful around the shop, Lee? George seemed to be needing some help."

"I think you'd be much better at _helping_ him than I," muttered Lee.

"What was that?"

"I am being useful," said Lee, as if there had been no interruption from Hermione's first question.

"Oh really? How so? Because it seems you're just sitting on your arse, watching me attend to customers and generally being a pain in the neck."

"I'm researching," he said cheerily.

Hermione's eyes flicked quickly to his face, wary, and she could see the wickedness behind the smile.

"Really?" she asked in a breezy tone as she flipped open the inventory book, ignoring the fact that it would have already updated the numbers to show the purchases the customers had just made. "Researching what?"

"Did you know your pulse shoots up when you're aroused?" asked Lee conversationally.

Hermione spluttered. Was this somehow a roundabout answer to her question, or was he trying to get a rise out of her?

"Yes," she said, keeping her voice carefully measured. "I did know that. But I'd rather not talk about things like that when there are customers around."

"What better time than when you're surrounded by possible creatures of study?"

"I'm so thrilled to know that you consider me a creature," Hermione replied dryly.

She turned away from Lee and felt fingers against her scalp. She jerked away as she felt her hair being tossed about. She whipped about, reprimanding look already in place, but was met with a knowing look.

"Told you."

Lee was standing by the till as a customer walked up, so, with a huff, Hermione took it has her chance to get some time away from Lee and his prying glances and odd questions. Thankfully, she didn't have to deal with too much more. The rest of the afternoon wore on surprisingly smoothly and, besides the few interested glances shot between George and Hermione, Lee did nothing else to bother her.

.

.

.

"How easily would you say you blush, on a scale of Lord Voldemort to Ron Weasley?"

Hermione sighed. She should have known it was coming. She had had such a peaceful morning, working the front of the shop as George and Lee worked together on the workshop on a new product idea. No one had bothered her; she had helped customers find exactly what they needed; she had even been tipped! It had been _too good_ of a day to get away without being tormented by Lee Jordan. She dragged her eyes slowly up from her edition of the Quibbler (_Back to School Edition – make sure your student's trunk is fanglesnork free!_) and onto his caramel-colored eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"It's for market research," he said with an easy grin.

She pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm…on that scale, I'd have to rate my blushing at 'Hermione Granger level'." She gave him a swift smile before dropping her eyes back to the pages of her magazine.

Lee chuckled. "Witty," he said quietly. He watched her for a moment longer before his voice rang out in the nearly-empty shop. "_Our_ Hermione is a clever one, isn't she, George? I don't know what we'd do without her!"

"_Our_ Hermione?" called back George as he walked from the back of the store. "Excuse me, but she's _my_ Hermione. I take full credit for luring her into working here and taking her under my wing."

Hermione could feel her face start to slowly heat from George's words, and she silently willed her body to stay as pale as possible. She caught the familiar whiff of gunpowder and rain before a strong arm was thrown around her waist. She forced herself to not to sink into his side like she so desperately wanted to.

"But yes, she is brilliant," George continued, clearly oblivious to the internal war going inside the woman tucked against his left side. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

He gave her a quick peck on the side of her head before releasing her, ruffling her curls, and walking away, whistling something that sounded suspiciously like the Hogwarts school song. Hermione started grinning to herself but was rudely interrupted from her girlish fantasies by a cough. She whipped her head around and saw Lee watching her with undisguised mirth. She was mortified. And just when she thought it all couldn't get worse, Lee spoke.

"Oh, so that's what the 'Hermione Granger blush level' looks like. Good to know. I'll have to note that before further testing."

Hermione sagged against the nearest counter and buried her face in her magazine.

Four more days to go until Lee left. Only four. She could make it.

.

.

.

She couldn't make it.

"I'm happy I could help you, sir," she said as she handed the man at the register his bag of merchandise. "Please don't let the loud packaging deter."

The man gave her an odd look, but smiled nonetheless and took his leave.

"This is absolutely maddening. He thinks I'm his plaything," she muttered under her breath.

She was going to find Lee and was going to have him hanging upside down faster than he could say "prankster." She was interrupted on her warpath, however, by a small girl who tugged at her shirt hem. She looked down and saw a pair of big grey eyes watching her balefully.

"Can I help you? You seem rather blue," she said as she squatted down to be on eyelevel with the girl, who could only be about six years old.

"My big brothers are mean to me."

It was not a question, but Hermione knew just what to do.

"My name's Hermione, which I know sounds funny. What's your name, and what can I help you with, honey?"

"I'm Regan. Why are you talking funny?"

"One of my friends thought this joke was just prime, so he made me talk in couplets that rhyme."

"What's a couplet?"

"Two lines of words that have the same rhythm, and there's usually a rhyme or two i' them. So shall I help you get revenge on your brothers so you can teach them that you can't be smothered?"

"Yes please, Ah-mione," said Regan.

Hermione bit her lip, torn between correcting the girl and finding the mispronunciation adorable. "Will you walk or shall I carry you? What would you prefer to do?"

Regan lifted her arms, and Hermione hooked her arms under them and around the small girl's torso. She balanced her on her hip and headed towards the pranks aimed at younger kids. She didn't want one of the more advanced pranks to backfire or malfunction because the operator was too young. She looked at all the products, first suggesting their ever-popular Itching Powder.

.

.

.

Lee was just finishing helping a customer decide which fake wand would be best to purchase when George headed out from the back of the shop and stopped him.

"Hey. Lee. Have you seen Hermione?"

Lee grinned. "Not for a while. I've been avoiding her since I put a Rhyming Hex on her."

"What?"

"Yeah! Oh it's bloody brilliant. She's speaking in rhyming pairs. Her threats were some of the funniest things I've heard in a—"

"You've been playing pretty rough with her this week," interrupted George in an admonishing whisper.

Lee's eyes went wide. Was he being reprimanded by George Weasley for playing pranks? What the hell was happening?

"Yeah," he said flippantly, "just like I do all of our employees."

"She's not just _some employee_, Lee. Okay? So lay off a bit."

Lee laughed, hoping that he was preempting the joke. "That's a good one, mate. But actually, next I was thinking of getting my new product under way. It's off the basis of when you fan—"

George, who had been craning his neck to find Hermione, turned back around quickly. "I'm not kidding around, alright? Cut her a break." He went back to his search.

"Why?"

George smiled. "That's why."

He gestured to somewhere else in the store without ever looking away. Lee looked where George was pointing and saw Hermione standing by the _Ten & Under_ section, holding a strawberry-blonde girl in a navy jumper who was talking animatedly. Hermione's eyes were wide and interested as she chatted with the little girl, whose small hand shot out to play with one of Hermione's escaped curls. She said something and the two of them laughed, the little girl leaning her head against Hermione's chest, as comfortably as if she was her mother or sister. As she came up from laughing, the light caught her hair and it shone red. Lee felt like smacking George upside the head. After a second's thought, he decided it was a good idea after all.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get! Are you trying to tell me to lay off pranking Hermione because you fancy her?"

George's eyes went big with shock. "Me? Fancy Hermione?" He burst into laughter. "Where would you get an idea like that? No, I just think we need to lay off because she's got such a temper. And she's so good with the customers. I mean, there are some people who have even come up to me to say she's brilliant at customer service."

Lee frowned. He had no idea what to do with this new information. Hermione fancied George. George seemed to fancy Hermione. George didn't think he fancied Hermione. Hermione was really good at _their_ job.

This was baffling.

"You realize a good portion of our more recent clients have all been blokes about our age, right?" he asked with a last chance stab at the possibility of a reaction.

George pursed his lips. Lee continued on as his friend's face darkened.

"Honestly, I haven't even been here a week and a couple guys have come in to buy the same stuff they bought two days earlier just because they get to talk to Hermione while they buy it."

"Yeah, well," grunted a scowling George, "at least we're taking their money while they take up Hermione's time." There was a pause as George looked over at the front door, through which one of those said _regulars_ was walking. "I'm going to go check on Hermione. See if she needs any help. I'll see you in a bit."

Lee watched his best friend's retreating back. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. What this situation needed was something to kick it into a different speed. And there was no way Lee was going to give up his pranking just because his best friend started showing some favoritism. Lee chuckled.

This was going to be fun.


	9. Chapter 9

"Good morning!" a cheery voice sang from the workshop, accompanied by the whooshing sound of the floo fire dying, its job complete. Hermione groaned and tucked herself tighter, if that was even possible, into the old armchair that was hidden in a dim corner of the shop.

She had gone two days – two blissfully peaceful days – without Lee's pranks. It had been glorious. But yesterday afternoon, she had forgotten she was supposed to be watching baby Teddy for Harry, who had to be in New South Wales for the Holyhead Harpies' game against Woollongong Warriors. The surprise delivery of a baby to her door, plus the nine hour time difference had thrown Hermione for a loop. She had spent most of the night awake with a very fussy child that had a propensity to change appearance drastically every time he cried, which he had done most of the night until he finally wore himself out. She was desperate to get a few last seconds of rest before she had to put on a smile for the customers.

The chair suddenly vibrated as someone drummed on the top of the chair.

"Rise and shine!"

"I am not awake enough to deal with you right now," she muttered into the curve of her arm, refusing to open her eyes and allow her last moments to be completely ruined.

"What'd you do, Granger? Stay up all night partying?" teased Lee Jordan, his arm draped casually over the top of the chair.

"I was up all night with a screaming mini Metamorphmagus," she mumbled.

"My apologies. That must have been rough." There was a pause. Hermione waited, shocked at this seemingly genuine sympathy. "You look like you lost a round against the Whomping Willow." And there it was. Hermione should have known better.

"I've changed my mind; I want the baby back instead of you."

She heard a bark of laughter and footsteps walking away. She sighed and tucked her face into her arm, covering her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

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She wasn't sure when she had drifted back to sleep, but she must have, as she was awoken by a few gentle bumps against her knees. She raised her head slightly and trained her blurry eyes on the figure in front of her.

"Coffee?" Lee asked, mug of coffee in his hand, another floating next to him.

"Yes please," she said hurriedly, sitting up quickly and grabbing the mug out of the air.

"We'll be opening soon, so you might want to do something about your hair. You look a bit like Trelawney."

"I have half a mind to throw this coffee in your face," Hermione threatened, holding the coffee out towards Lee. There was a beat of silence as both contemplated the mug, already tipping towards Lee, before Hermione brought the coffee to her lips.

"What was that about throwing coffee at me?" Lee asked, his lips quirked in a half-grin.

"I need caffeine. I'm not going to waste that on the likes of you."

"Ouch," he said. "You're welcome, by the way."

Hermione rolled her eyes before smiling. "Thank you, Lee," she said, sweetly.

He grinned at her and leaned forward to ruffle her hair. She batted his hand away and gave him a warning glare, which he just laughed off.

"So where's George? Why isn't he in to open the shop?" asked Hermione as Lee walked to the front of the shop to start the unlocking and protection spells. Hermione quickly tied up her hair into a bun, hoping she looked nothing like the old bat.

"We have a meeting with Zonko's to talk about buying them out." Hermione eyebrows shot up, and Lee seemed to read her shock immediately. "It's not like a mean competition thing or anything; Zonko's retiring and wants to hand over his companies to keep them going."

"So why aren't you there with him?"

"We only really needed one of us there. And plus, George lost the game."

"The game?"

"We played Exploding Snap to decide who would go to the meeting. George lost, so had to go."

"It's good to know mature individuals like yourselves are running companies," Hermione said dryly.

"Isn't it?" Lee replied with wink.

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It was almost noon by the time George made it into the shop, but it had been a slow morning. Apparently, the usual patrons had shared Hermione's feelings that this was a morning to sleep in and, unlike the unlucky Hermione, had done just that. Lee was sitting on the railing of the second floor, back against a support beam, reading _Quidditch Weekly_. Hermione was dozing slightly as she leaned against the counter, her chin resting in her palms.

Hermione could feel something warm on her back. It was rubbing wide circles on her back. And she could hear someone saying her name. "_Hermione…_" the voice sang quietly. She heard it dimly for a second before waking with a start and looking around rather guiltily. Her eyes landed on George who was chuckling.

"Those are some very impressive guarding skills you're displaying there."

"I'm so sorry, George. I got maybe three hours of sleep last night. Teddy would not stop—"

George laughed before pulling Hermione against his chest, shushing her as he did so. She settled against him, her words trailing off. He hugged her, rubbing her back in wide counterclockwise circles. "It's okay, Hermione. You're fine. I've had to babysit before – I completely understand." He gave her a final squeeze before letting her go.

"Oi, Lee, get down here. I've got to talk to you two together," George called.

Lee looked up from his magazine, not betraying any hint of the fact that he had noticed the scene unfolding beneath him, and grinned. "Good morning to you too, you prat." He swung his legs over the banister and headed for the stairs.

George looked back towards Hermione, mouth opening as if about to say something, but halted as he frowned at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Hermione, are you feeling alright?" he asked carefully.

"Well, I'm exhausted, if that's what you mean. Why?"

"You—, well umm, your face…it's all…"

"What?" asked Hermione, fingers jumping up to touch her face self-consciously.

"It's all flushed and—"

"Blimey! You look like a tomato!" Lee half-shouted in surprise. He immediately burst into laughter.

"_What?!_" Hermione rushed to the back room, where she knew there was a mirror. She saw her reflection and yelped. She was pink all over, especially across her nose and the apples of her cheeks, looking as though she had stayed out in the sun for far too long. "What happened to my face?" As she was standing there, though, the color started to drain away, until she was back to her usual self.

She was about to walk back out when she heard George heading over. "Hermione, is everything alright?"

She glanced back in the mirror and realized that the color was filling her face, starting at her cheeks. It looked like she was blushing and her body had taken it a step too far. George joined her at the mirror and gently set one palm on her forehead, the other resting on the back of her neck. He frowned as he examined her face. "You're getting worse," said George. "It's darker now. It doesn't feel like you have a fever, though." He brought his hands back to his sides.

Hermione's breathing stuttered slightly. Now this was just unfair. Looking like a radish was apparently the only way to get George to touch her in an intimate way. This must be some cruel joke from the universe.

Lee walked in, a look of concern on his face. "Are you not feeling well?" he asked. "I've never seen anyone flush like that. It's like you have your own level – _a Hermione Granger level_."

Everything snapped into place. A cruel joke? Yes, that's exactly what this was. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she glared at Lee over George's shoulder.

"Hermione, how about you take today off? You don't seem like you're feeling well," said George worriedly, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Hermione said gratefully, "I think I'd better do that." She was about to leave, first to sleep and second to plot how many ways she could do damage to Lee Jordan before all the bruises and black eyes became overtly noticeable, when George stopped her.

"I do have two things I have to tell both of you before you go. Well," George paused and grinned at them (Hermione could have done without the added suspense). "Zonko's has agreed to the terms of the offer as long as we keep certain products of his choosing in production, _and_ he said that we will be getting all of his stores in Europe!"

Hermione couldn't exactly say what happened in the next few moments, but there was much excited shouting, jumping about, hugging, and exclaiming.

"And also," said George, interrupting Lee's continued chant of _We're taking over Europe We're taking over Europe yes yes yes_, "the Harpies thrashed those Aussies and Harry is taking everyone out for a celebratory drink tonight! The Cracked Wand at 7! Do you think you'll feel up to it, Hermione?"

"To celebrate Ginny's success? Of course!"

"Brilliant. Well, you go get yourself home and start feeling better, alright?" George pulled Hermione into another hug before ruffling her hair genially and heading back out to the front of the shop.

As soon as George was out of earshot, Hermione's smile slid from her face like butter on a hot pan and was replace with a look of rage.

"I hate you. I hate you so much right now. I want to throttle you," snarled Hermione.

"I didn't know you liked to play rough, Granger," said Lee, smirking as he crossed his arms and surveyed her approaching.

"What the hell did you do to my face, Lee?" she hissed.

"Why do you think I have anything to do with this? Maybe you're coming down with something." Hermione was tempted to smack the smug smile off his face; he didn't even have the decency to make his innocence plea look convincing.

"I know you spiked my coffee. You were too nice to me. You just had to wait until I was vulnerable before you attacked!"

"You make me sound like such a monster," he teased. "I'm just a humble prankster."

"Humble my arse! What did you do to my face?"

"You wouldn't give me a fair answer as to how you blush, so I decided to find out for myself."

"What do you get out of making me turn colors?"

"I now definitely know you fancy George. And not just that – you're mad for him. That's why you blush so hard when he's around." Lee let out a laugh. "You're only red right now because you're angry. Although I do have to say that there's no accounting for taste, because, I mean, look at me," he said, gesturing to himself."

Hermione hurried to the mirror and saw that, indeed, her cheeks were only tinged with pink from her anger. She turned back around and punched Lee as hard as she could, maybe even harder than she had punched Malfoy in their third year at Hogwarts.

"Ow! Bloody hell! What was—"

"You deserved it! So you're extorting my emotions for, what, your own pleasure, to make fun of me? Are you going to tell him? Are you trying to get rid of me? Is that what this is about? Chase me out—"

"Fuckin' 'ell, Hermione! It's nothing like that!" said Lee hurriedly. "I just—, shite. Hold on." He quickly mended his broken nose, and vanished the blood that had, moments before, been streaming off his chin and dripping onto the hardwood floor. "It's nothing like that! It's a new product! It's for the kids!"

"What?" asked Hermione, feeling completely lost. She had built up all this fire and it was like somebody had just snuffed it out and left her feeling cold.

"It's a joke," said Lee softly. "I thought of it and wanted to test it out on you because then I would know if it would work and if I was right about you and George."

"There is no 'me and George,'" said Hermione quickly.

"Do you want there to be?" asked Lee cautiously.

"It doesn't matter what I want," said Hermione quickly. "I work with him, and you for that matter. It's just some silly…thing, and it'll pass."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Why do you need to know so much? Why do you care so much about me liking George? Are you threatened somehow? I don't understand your fascination with pestering me about it." Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, which had fallen out of its tie hours ago, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Lee laughed softly to himself, not meeting Hermione's eye. He bit the inside of his cheek then looked back up at her, his eyes shining. "I dunno. I feel like it's kind of my job to look out for him. Because this would be Fred's job, to pester you and embarrass you because of it."

Hermione inhaled sharply. She had absolutely not been expecting that answer. Wanting to embarrass her? Sure. Wanting to get inside her head? Absolutely plausible. Want to chase her away from their business? Honestly, she had been worried. But this? This just made her eyes well up. She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, silently willing herself not to cry.

"He doesn't have Fred to look out for him anymore, you know? And I always was there too, but it was really Fred's job, and George looked out for Fred. And now, he's got nobody. Well, that's not true – he's got me. And you, apparently." He took a deep, steadying breath and quickly wiped away a stray tear that had escaped down his cheek. "I thought it was a laugh, him hiring you. But you have brilliant ideas and you're wonderful with customers. And he's happy when he's around you. I thought it was funny that you fancy him, that the prefect is here falling for the prankster."

"And now?" asked Hermione carefully, wrapping her arms around herself like a shield against the words she knew would be coming. _You're not good enough for him. You're not his type. You've got no chance._

"It makes sense. And I think you're good for him. Just being around here; you've made a big difference. I think you two would be good together."

Now it was Hermione's turn to have traitorous tears. "Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen."

"Why?"

"You've seen how he is with me. It's like I'm his little sister or something. I'm the best friend; I'm not the girl you date." _I'm always that girl_.

"I don't think that's true," said Lee quietly. "I think—"

"You know what, I'd better head out. I'm exhausted and I need to sleep before we all meet up tonight." Lee watched her silently as she gathered her things and prepared herself to leave. "Sorry I punched you," she said as she turned back to him.

His lips quirked up in a grin. "I think I deserved it." Hermione chuckled quietly. "Will you be alright? Tonight?"

Hermione smiled wryly and raised her eyebrows in a self-depreciating expression. "Of course. It'll be fun. Everyone will get to see my blush level." She knew her voice didn't ring true, and she could see he heard the same falseness. "See you tonight."

She turned, stepped into the flames, and was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This was a very difficult chapter to write, and a very important chapter. Not Rowling.

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Hermione stepped out of the floo and dumped her things onto the nearest armchair. She had hardly taken two steps before tears started running down her face. She walked into the kitchen, set the kettle on to boil, and walked to her room. With a flick of her wand, all the blinds began to close. First to fall was her Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shirt, then her trainers and jeans. She grabbed an old lumpy sweater of her father's and pulled it over her head, pushing away the hair that was sticking to her wet face. The piercing whistle led her to the kitchen. Clad in her too-large sweater, gratuitously large mug of tea in hand, she shuffled into the pitch black room and curled herself into the unmade mess of pillows and quilt. With a flick of her wand and an escaped hiccup of a sob, the bedroom door clicked shut.

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Lee stared at the empty fireplace. Where had all of that come from? Everything about taking up Fred's job, about watching over George? He never talked about things like that. Hell, most of that he had barely admitted to himself because he didn't like to think about things like that. To think about how much had fundamentally changed after Fred's death. What the hell had happened to him?

Hermione. Hermione Granger had happened.

He pulled out the chair from the desk and slumped into it. He was shaken; he had never talked to anyone about Fred's death. Of course, he talked to George, but that was more in commiseration or in comfort. But it had been a hard year for everyone, and he'd been there for everyone as much as he could be. He had watched one of his best friends turn into a ghost of himself, wandering around lost and aimless, lashing out in moments of pent up anger and hurt and confusion, shattering apart at the sheer cruelty of the universe. And he had always been there to help put George back together, because that's what best friends did, what brothers did. But he had never gotten to talk to anyone about how he felt, about how it ripped him apart every day that he had lost his best friend in the entire world to a stone wall. How his moments of grieving were stolen snatches of time he had away from George, which was nearly impossible when he was Lee's roommate. How he always tried to have a smile on for George's sake, for the Weasleys' sake. How no one knew about his weekly visits to the cemetery on the other side of the hill from the Burrow, about how he'd sit and talk to Fred about how his brother was doing, how the shop was doing. It had gotten a little easier to deal with the pain with each passing day, and as George began to recover, so did Lee. The move to Ireland was difficult because he was worried about leaving George on his own, because George had never in his life been alone, but somehow they managed until it felt normal to only talk every other day or so.

And then Hermione had reentered George's life as a major player, and thus she had reentered Lee's. He had had a right laugh when he had gotten George's letter. He had actually snorted derisively when he saw her in the magenta regalia. But watching her work with the customers, watching how she and George seemed to flow seamlessly together, Lee was impressed and, if he was honest with himself, a little jealous. The way she could easily find her way around the shop was impressive, but the way she brought a smile to George's face, even without trying to, was nothing short of…well…_magic_. George seemed brighter with her around, more fully rounded out. Lee knew that George would never be able to fill the hole left in his heart by the death of his brother, but it seemed like Hermione had attached herself in such a way that the hole wasn't quite so open and raw and noticeable. A small voice in the back of his head had realized that and been threatened by it because she had, unknowingly, managed to help George in a way that Lee couldn't, when he had been there for every painful moment and had tried everything.

So he had vetted her properly, bringing out all the stops, all the pranks, little and big, all the irritating habits, all the things he remembered from school that had driven her up the wall. He had gotten in her face, gotten on her bad side, basically tried to make her life a living hell, all to see if she'd stick around. But she, as she had already proven with Harry and Ron time and time again, was made of stronger stuff. She fought back, she lashed out, but she never left, and she never hurt George.

Lee had noticed the way she watched him. It wasn't the way she had watched them at school, with a McGonagall-like stare, suspicious and wary. It wasn't the way she looked at Ron, with half-fondness and half-exasperation, or Harry, with half-fondness and half-worry. It was a soft look that smoothed out the lines in her forehead and tilted the corners of her lips up in an unconscious half-smile. There was never worry or wariness in her gaze, just fondness and amusement and something more, something more akin to love, though he'd never say that out loud. It was the kind of look you wanted to be on the receiving end of, and the kind of look you hope to one day give. At the beginning, he had interrupted these moments, snapped her out of them, curious to see how she'd respond. But as the days passed, he pranked her less and watched her more. Watched how she gazed at George when he wasn't looking, how her smile widened at his presence, how it fell ever so slightly every time he hugged her or ruffled her hair and then walked away.

_So you're extorting my emotions for, what, your own pleasure, to make fun of me?_ _Are you trying to get rid of me? Chase me out?_

Those words were like an ice cold knife to the gut, stabbing in before ripping out and leaving him empty.

Was that what she thought of him? Was that the kind of person he appeared to be? Or were those the words of the scared, lashing out when backed up in a corner, secrets visible like a red target on her heart?

He shuddered in a breath, letting it out slowly. He looked at the fireplace, wishing he knew where she lived so he could find her and apologize. She seemed to understand by the end, when her angry presence and her words like daggers had cut the truth from where it had been hid inside him for so long. He closed his eyes, thought of selling his first solo prank design, and whispered, "Expecto patronum." A sea lion slid from the tip of his wand and landed in front of him, letting out two silent barks before looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The sea lion looked at him, opened its mouth in a bark, then vanished.

Lee dropped his head into his hands, his breathing unsteady as he tried to wipe away the unshed tears that were blurring his vision.

_It's like I'm his little sister or something. I'm the best friend; I'm not the girl you date._

Lee had seen the defeat in her face, in the slumped lines of her body. He had taken a harmless fancy of Hermione's and dragged it to the surface for all to see; mortified her. In that moment, he had seen the real Hermione – the girl who was always saving somebody's arse, fixing everyone else's worlds, never expecting any thanks, never thinking she deserved the things she wanted so desperately, always thinking she was never smart enough, funny enough, good enough to get them – and she had seen the real Lee. Her face floated in front of his eyes like a specter; the smile that was twisted at the edges and the shrug as she pulled her pain back in and put the lid back on the box, holding it all inside for yet another day.

He clawed his nails through his hair, furious with himself. Not only had he let his defenses shatter around him, but he'd hurt the one person that would have understood being the one who was forced to hold it together while their best friend broke down completely.

_Ally._

He laughed softly. It was a painfully true term, considering the war he had waged on Hermione's nerves. He could have had an ally. _You had to fuck that up, didn't you, Jordan?_ he thought bitterly.

The seal slid once again through the window and stopped in front of him. He looked at it, worried at what he'd hear. Worried more that all there would be was silence.

_I know you are._

He stared at the seal, speaking in Hermione's voice. He took a breath and was about to stand when it started talking again.

_I am too. You shouldn't have to face that on your own. _There was a watery-sounding chuckle then: _I guess we're more alike than we thought. _

The seal vanished.

Lee smiled wryly. "You've got yourself an ally, Jordan."

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Hermione, in a very un-Hermione-like way, showed up at The Cracked Wand at a quarter past seven. She had not dressed up too much for the occasion, choosing some dark trousers and a white shirt, counting on her face to be bright enough to make up for her possible dullness. She, thankfully, did not look quite as haggard as she had that morning, thanks to sleep that had been so heavy, not even a patronus' message had had much time to swim around her brain after her reply had been sent. She opened the door to the pub and let the noise and warmth wash over her. She listened carefully and soon heard her party's raucous laughter. She wove her way through occupied tables and chair until she turned a corner and saw her friends.

"HERMIONE!"

She hitched on a big grin and headed over to the booth where they were crammed in a kind of semi-circle.

"Hermione, what took you so long?"

"She's not _that_ late; lay off, Ron."

"Ginny, congratulations on your win! I'm so pleased for you!"

"Thanks so much! I'm still thrilled!"

"Hermione! It's good to see you and not just be quickly passing a baby off to you."

"Oi! Make some room! Your arses shouldn't be _that_ big."

"Well, maybe this one…"

"Oi!"

"Ow! Harry, restrain your woman!"

"Don't make me sic Mum on you, Ronnikins!"

"Piss off!"

"Wave with your whole hand next time, eh, mate?"

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione stood from where she had been starting to get trapped between the table and Harry's side. "I'm going to get myself a Butterbeer. You lot need to sort this out. We're adults here."

"Well…" said Lee and George at the same time. Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed before heading towards the bar. "Wait up, Hermione. I need a fresh pint." Hermione turned to see Lee wiggling his way between the others until he finally got free. She smiled and waited for him to catch up. "Anyone else? No. Alright."

Hermione and Lee walked in silence to the bar, putting in their orders and waiting awkwardly.

"Sooo…are we okay?" asked Lee.

Hermione looked up from where she had been memorizing the pattern of the knot in the bar's counter and gave a small chuckle. "Yeah," she said slowly. "We're okay."

She grabbed the two drinks that the bartender slid over to her, and handed one to Lee. They walked back, and the two seats that had been left open were next to Harry and next to George. She could feel Lee heading towards Harry, but she was closer, so she slid next to her best friend and returned the bright smile George gave her.

"Hermione, what's wrong with your face?" asked Ron, his forehead wrinkled as he peered at her from the other side of the table.

"Thanks, Ronald," she replied sarcastically. "That's what every girl loves to hear. 'What's wrong with your face?'"

The whole table laughed.

"Ron is right, though," said Harry. "You are very red. Did you get burned or something?"

"That is actually my fault," Lee piped up. "It's a new product I invented that needed testing."

"What's it do?" asked Ginny.

"It makes you turn colors—" Hermione shot Lee a worried look, which he batted away with a quick wink. "—when you're around people you like. It's a silly harmless prank for preteens and such. You know how kids are – 'You're _blushing_!' and all that," he said, with a dopey impression of a 12 year old.

The group laughed, missing the quick _thanks_ Hermione mouthed at Lee. Lee winked back at her.

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"Yes, this morning I was a total wreck, thanks to _your_ little monster," Hermione said, with a jab into Harry's arm, earning a laugh from the others. "So, Lee brought me a cup of coffee, with the perfect amount of sugar and milk – how did you know how I like my coffee, by the way?"

"Maybe I'm just that good," he said, a smug smile on his face.

George laughed and smacked Lee on the back of the head. "He asked me the other day, and I just remembered seeing how you make yours."

"Well, regardless," said Hermione with a laugh and a soft smile at George that Lee did not miss, "I was too exhausted to be suspicious. Lee had spiked my drink with it."

"Yeah, it's a little drop, like those Lemon Drops Dumbledore always had on his desk," he said.

"Why am I not surprised you were in Dumbledore's office enough to get offered candy," said Ginny with a laugh.

"She was so mad about it that she punched me!" said Lee with a laugh, although he watched Hermione carefully, gauging how far he could go before it was no longer safe territory. She smiled, but her smile wavered slightly. That was his sign that any further into the story would be too far.

"WHAT?" the Weasleys half-shouted while Harry just laughed.

"Yes, probably even harder than I did when I punched Malfoy."

"YOU PUNCHED MALFOY?" shouted Lee, along with George and Ginny.

"I'm like a proud parent over here," said George, pretending to fan his face and wipe away fake tears.

"So are you going to be testing this out on George anytime soon?" asked Ginny with a glint in her eye.

"Not likely!" scoffed George from next to him.

"How do you know I haven't slipped it to you already?" he teased.

"Well, you wouldn't get much effect if you had," joked George. "Everyone's family here."

"Well, Lee and Hermione aren't," said Ron.

"They might as well be!" laughed George.

Lee's eyes immediately snapped to Hermione, whose face was no longer smiling, but looking as she had back in the workshop. Her words from before flashed before him, like subtitles to her emotions - _I'm the best friend; I'm not the girl you date._ She made a little noise that was supposed to sound like a laugh, but he recognized it as a bitten-back sob. Shite. She stood up, already slipping on her coat, slipping on a false smile like a mask.

"Actually guys, I think I better get back to my bed. I'm not feeling very well. I'm sorry. I don't want to bring everyone down. You all have fun."

"Do you want me to walk you out, 'Mione?" asked George, worry etched all over his face.

"No," she spat out quickly, a broken little _no_ that cracked at the end. "I'm fine." She gave them one last smile and started off quickly through the other guests to the front door.

"Shite, George," muttered Lee. "Honestly, mate. You're such an idiot sometimes."

George gave Lee a confused and slightly offended look that Lee noticed briefly as he grabbed his coat on before hurrying after Hermione.

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Lee shot out the door, looking around desperately. He saw a familiar mess of brown curls bobbing in between late-night window-shoppers.

"Hermione!" he shouted. He hurried after her, catching her arm and swinging her around slightly. "Hermione, he's an idiot. He doesn't understand. He didn't mean what he—"

"I know," said Hermione softly, tear tracks already down her face. "I know. I just-, tonight it's all a bit raw. You go back."

"Hermione, he didn't mean what he said about you being family," Lee said desperately. This was all his fault; it was his fault everything was so 'raw' tonight, that the tip of her nose was already turning red from her trying to hold back the flow of tears.

"I know that. It-, it just hurts, you know?" she whispered.

"I do."

Lee wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a quick hug, and felt Hermione's wrap gently around his torso.

Down the street, a redheaded man stood in the lit doorway of the pub, watching his two best friends embrace, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.


	11. Chapter 11

"Good morning, George," said Hermione.

"Morning," George replied, but it was not accompanied by his usual hug and bright smile.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine. You know, just looking forward to a new week." George headed up the stairs quickly, ending the conversation.

Hermione frowned. It had only been one full day since she had seen him. They had all been out Saturday night; she had left early; they hadn't talked Sunday, and it was Monday morning now. What could have possible happened in that span of time that could have made George act like this to her. He probably seemed cordial, even 'normal' to an outsider, but to Hermione, it was like he was giving her the cold shoulder. She frowned and unlocked the cash register. Maybe it was because Lee had left?

"Hey George?" she called. She heard a hum of acknowledgement from above. "Is Lee back in Ireland now?"

There was a pause. "Yeah. He did say he was only here for the week. And I'm sure you'll see enough of him on your off-time."

_What?_ Hermione mouthed to herself. What on earth did that mean?

"Umm…okay. So it's just back to you and me, eh?" she replied cheerily. "That's nice. I don't have to constantly watching my back now."

Another noncommittal hum. This was ridiculous. Had she done something wrong? Had Lee? What in the name of Merlin had gotten into George?

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.

.

Lee watched as customers walked around their shop, which was easy to do as it was a single-level store. His new hire, Cian, was manning the register pretty well, considering it was only his second day, and was already dealing with his mysterious new case of sneezing anytime anyone said _thank you_. (It was endearing that the boy still hadn't realized that the hex had come from his boss. Lee would have to test him to see his tolerance level – it had to be high if he was going to stick it out here.)

If Lee was honest with himself, he was lonely and a little bored (well, he was a lot bored, but then he hexed Cian and said _thank you_ to him three times in a row, and felt less bored). He missed the chaos that was so common in the flagship store; it was like a mist that filled the got pumped through the vents to make sure there were constantly shrieks, shouts, and laughter being heard. He missed seeing the shaggy mess of red hair that would be seen bobbing around the shop, helping customers find their perfect weapon. He missed seeing Hermione's exasperated-but-reluctantly-amused smile when he directed someone towards something particularly funny or ironic, like the time he directed the meatheaded guy that had been hitting on Hermione to the Narcissus Natterer (_For when you need to feed your ego! Repeats the compliments you already give yourself!_).

His missed his friends. Well, his best friend and his ally. He wasn't sure if he and Hermione were friends yet or just comrades in arms. Teammates? Partners in not-sharing feelings? Empathetic Associates?

He frowned.

He had to think up a better term. For now, he'd stick with ally.

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"Hermione, where were you? I need you to man the register while I help these customers." There was a snappish tone to his voice that was strongly reminiscent of Percy.

Hermione hurried from the back of the workshop to the front counter. "I'm so sorry, George. I had to go in the back for something."

"Well, at least you're here now."

And with that, he turned around and stalked off with a harried woman, carrying a toddler who kept trying to put everything he could get his hands on into his mouth, in tow. Hermione's brow furrowed before she turned to the first customer and put on a false smile.

"Did you find everything you needed today, sir?"

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Lee closed the shop and let Cian go on his lunch break. He walked to the back room to grab his sandwich when an otter swam through the window and did a flip before slowing, making figure-eights in front of him. He nodded at it, and it spoke in Hermione's voice.

_Do you know why George is acting so oddly today? He's really curt and unfriendly and he won't really look at me. I'm honestly worried, Lee._

Lee scrunched up his face, trying to think of what could have caused this change in George, but he was at a loss.

"No," he replied to the listening otter, "but I'll keep my eye on it. Let me know if anything major changes."

The otter frolicked for a moment before sliding out the window once more.

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George spent an inordinately long time putting the lock spells on the front door, and Hermione pretended to be busy at the register, but she was actually counting. This was the forty-fifth time today he had used some excuse not to look at her or talk to her, and Hermione was of the opinion that that was forty-five times too many.

"So I just need you to grab your coat, and I'll clos—"

"Honestly, what is it?" Hermione half-shouted.

"What?" asked a startled George, staring at her wide-eyed. He seemed to remember something and quickly looked away.

"That!" she said, gesturing to him. "That's what I'm talking about! You've hardly made eye contact with me since the day started. You've been short, and curt, and haven't made one joke all day." There was a pause as she looked at him desperately and he desperately avoided her looks. "Have I done something wrong?"

"What?" he asked softly, finally looking at her, confusion pulling down the features of his face.

"Have I hurt you? Have I offended you? Have I done something wrong? Please, tell me; I want to know! I want to fix it! What is it that turned you into Percy?"

"I'm not Per—"

"You bloody well are today!" Hermione said, her voice rising as she clutched the soft wooden countertop. "Where are the smiles and the laughter? Where are the jokes? Where's the hugs and the hair ruffles?"

"I just didn't think it was appropriate because you—"

"Because I _what_, George?" Hermione cried desperately. "Is it my fault? I'll fix it – just go back to normal."

George's face grew pinched, as if he had just swallowed something that tasted bitter and awful. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just…"

Hermione waited but there was no end to the sentence. She could feel the tears starting to slide down her face. When had she become the girl who cried every time she got emotional? Hermione didn't sign up for this when she started falling for George. And she sure as hell didn't sign up for falling for him either.

"It's just _what_?" she whispered.

George hadn't moved an inch since he had turned around from locking the shop doors. He just stood there staring at her, back ramrod straight, lips in a grim line. He shook his head and spoke finally, robotically, "It's nothing. I'm happy for you two. Just, just tell me ahead of time next time. Or whatever."

He started to stalk past but came to a halt at Hermione's words.

"Who? Me and who? George, what are you talking about?"

He looked at her, halfway between hurt and bewildered. "I thought we were friends, Hermione. Close to best friends. I thought—"

"We ARE friends—"

"I thought you would have had the common decency to tell me, to warn me at least."

"Warn you of what?"

"I mean, my best friend, Hermione? You don't even give me a head's up? And he didn't say a goddamn thing either!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know what? I don't want to talk about it anymore." He tried to walk to the back, but Hermione stopped him, glaring furiously through her tears.

"We ARE friends. George would know that. You know George, right? Brilliant redhead; full of wonderful ideas and smiles and laughter? I don't know where you've put him, but whoever _this_ is right now;" she said as she gestured to all of him, "he's rubbish. The real George doesn't talk nonsense and he doesn't hurt someone out of the blue. So you know what, fine. You can be done talking about it, because I'm not talking to _you_ anymore."

Hermione turned and started towards the back room. She turned in the doorway, the remaining light catching on her tear-streaked, flushed face, and faced George, who was staring wide-eyed at her.

"Piss off, George," she spat.

She turned on her heel. There was a shout, a _whoosh_, and George was left in the darkened store. He grimaced and hurried after her. There was a shout, a _whoosh_, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – Diagon Alley Branch was closed for the night.

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.

.

George had hardly stepped out of the fireplace before he shouted "Oi!" into the darkened store. Lights flicked on and he stepped out into the main shop. Lee and a teen George didn't know were standing in the middle of the shop, looking puzzled.

"I need to talk to you," George growled at Lee.

"Blimey, are you George Weasley?" asked the teen.

"Cian, this is not a good time," cut in Lee.

"I'm a huge fan, Mr. Weasley."

"Cian, this is not—"

George turned on the kid and hitched an easy smile onto his face. "Cian, is it? I need to talk to Lee now, so I'll see you later, alright? Thanks for all the hard work here. We appreciate it."

The boy beamed and looked about ready to jump about when George clapped him on the back, although he was only doing it to try and get him out of the room faster in the most polite way he could muster at the moment. He glared silently at Lee, who just frowned back, until they heard the ruckus in the back room cease and the _whoosh_ of the floo.

"I can't bloody believe you, Jordan."

"What?"

"I can't believe you did this and didn't have the bloody decency to say anything first. But no, you just bugger off and do your own thing—"

"Whose wand got stuck up your arse, eh? What the bloody hell are you on about?"

George raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "What is with you two? Why can't anyone be honest, for Merlin's sake? You're supposed to be my best friend and you go behind my back and do this?"

"What have I supposedly done, George?"

"HERMIONE, that's what!" George roared. He could feel angry tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "She's my best friend, Lee. She's supposed to be off limits! We always said that's how it worked, or was that some silly school thing? You practically killed Fred for going after Angelina, and then you go and do this? Honestly, I wouldn't have even been that mad, but then neither of you warns me about it? What the hell? We're like brother, Lee. How could you do this?"

Lee, who'd been clutching his fists tightly at his side, his face turn between hurt and fury, suddenly blinked and started at him as if he'd grown an extra head. He let out a quiet _oooohhhh_, as if finally understanding.

"Wait…you think I'm shagging Granger?"

There was silence as the two stared at each other. George blinked a few times, thrown by Lee's puzzled tone, as if he had just asked if Lee was shagging a hippogriff.

"Aren't you?" asked George, now very confused and a little uncomfortable.

"No," said Lee, apparently half-laughing at the preposterousness of the idea, which confused George even more. "Why in the name of Merlin do you think I'm shagging Granger?"

George cringed. "Can you stop saying that?" George asked.

Lee actually looked amused, the son of a banshee. "Why do you think I'm _courting_ Hermione?"

"I saw you two outside of the pub. She got up and you chased after her, and I didn't know what was happening, and I saw you two."

"What do you think you saw?"

"Don't make that face," said George, now really bothered by Lee's blasé attitude about all this. "Don't look like I'm saying you have to kiss a redcap."

"There's a reason I'm making that face, mate, and that's because I can't believe how much of a tit you are."

"Wha—"

"Hermione and I weren't snogging, Mr. Jealousy."

"I'm not jea—"

"She ran out of the pub crying and I went to check on her."

"Wh-why was she crying?" All of George's anger, it seemed, had suddenly been replaced with pressing worry.

Lee squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. He let out a huff and frustration. "I can't tell you."

"What? What kind of play yard bull—"

"I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone, alright?" Lee grimaced. "Hermione and I had a big fight the other day—"

"When? I would remember something like this."

"You had barely come back from the meeting with Zonko. You know, when she realized her face was all red? Well, you left and she attacked me – like a bleedin' warrior, that one is – and broke my nose and she screamed at me, and I shouted a bit back, and then we both…er…"

"If you tell me you snogged her, I swear to Merlin, I will make sure you can never get it up again," George said, taking a step towards Lee, fist already curled and raised.

"NO! Fuckin' 'ell, mate," said Lee, who had immediately covered himself. "We both broke down, alright? Are you happy? We both kind of exploded and she lost it and was crying and I tried to comfort her and she left. And that night, she wasn't better."

"She seemed alright," he said, not trusting his own words anymore.

"Like you'd notice. You're the problem, mate."

"What do you mean? I'm the reason she cried and left?"

"Yes! No! Ugh! I can't tell you!" shouted Lee, pacing back and forth as he ran his fingers distractedly through his dreadlocks. "Look, she was embarrassed because of the product and then was mad at me, and other stuff came out that I'm not allowed to talk about. And then you said something that triggered her and she had to leave because she was about to start crying. That's what happened. I don't know how the hell you took a reassuring hug to be us snogging and suddenly being a couple behind your back, but you got it all wrong, mate."

"Shite." He had to lean against something. He was suddenly feeling really sick. He staged back a few steps. His back hit a display case, and he slid down its length until he was huddled at the bottom.

"What?" asked Lee worriedly, hurrying forward. "Are you alright? You look like you just had a run-in with a dementor."

"Hermione," George said weekly from between his knees, as he tried valiantly not to be sick all over the hardwood floor.

Lee looked confused for a moment before it hit him. He paled as well. "I'm not the first person you confronted about this, am I?"

George shook his head, but realized that was bad. He retched and held his hand against his mouth. How could he have been this colossally stupid? He was awful to Hermione, and he'd been one hundred percent wrong. He attacked his two best friends, and they probably both hate him right now. He squeezed his eyes shut, using every ounce of energy not to be sick from guilt, shame, regret, and every other awful emotion that was swimming around inside of him.

"I don't hate you, George," said Lee quietly from next to him, as if he had known what George was thinking about. "But that's because I know this was all a huge misunderstanding. Now Hermione, on the other hand—"

"I gotta go talk to her!" said George, jumping to his feet. Probably not his best decision, he realized as he got a head rush.

Lee steadied him and pushed him towards the fire. "Good luck, mate," Lee said worriedly. "Oh, and put a shield charm on," he added, as an afterthought.

George grimaced before throwing the floo powder into the fireplace.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione was lying across her couch, holding her novel above her head as she read. Digby was curled up on her stomach, vibrating gently as he purred.

_Why, Miss Evesham, you look stunning tonight. I simply—_

Hermione's head suddenly came up from the couch cushion. Had she heard something? She looked around but saw nothing. It was faint, but she would have sworn she heard a man's voice, which was odd as her neighbor, Mrs. Edgeworth, lived alone with her four terriers and had a high, tinkling voice. Hermione shook her head and went back to her reading.

_Why, Miss Evesham, you look—_

"Oh! HELP! OH HELP! A BURGLAR! HELP! VILLAIN! ROGUE! GET BACK! BACK!"

Hermione sprang up from the couch, Digby flying across the room, tail fluffed to four times its normal size. Digby's hissing was almost drowned out by loud shouting and the racket of furniture being knocked over and four terriers yipping madly. She ran to the door, wand at the ready, and threw it open, running out into the hallway just as Mrs. Edgeworth's door opened.

"No! Ma'am! It was a mistake! I'm not trying to rob you! Ow! Ow! Stop it!"

"THIEF! HELP! CUTPURSE! BURGLAR! TAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT!"

"MRS. EDGEWORTH, ARE YOU O—"

"HERMIONE! OH THANK MERLIN!"

"GEORGE?"

"TAKE THAT, YOU!"

"Ow! Lay off! I'm not robbing you!"

"Mrs. Edgeworth! Mrs. Edgeworth!" cried Hermione as she ran forward. She wrapped her hands around the umbrella with which the ninety-seven year old woman had been beating George.

Mrs. Edgeworth looked up at her in surprise. "Hermione? When did you get here?"

"I—"

"This man tried to rob me!"

"I wasn't trying to ro—"

"He came out of my floo and said a rude word and then tried to make it to the door, probably to steal my great-grandmother Enid's priceless crystal tea set—"

"I came out the wrong floo—"

"But I started shouting and I got him, I did!"

"Mrs. Edgeworth," interrupted Hermione loudly. "He's not a burglar." Mrs. Edgeworth looked at Hermione in outright shock. "He's my boss."

"Then what was he doing in my fireplace?" asked Mrs. Edgeworth, raising the umbrella again threateningly.

George, who was collapsed in a heap, leaning against the hallway wall, hand cupped over his bleeding cheek and his already-blooming black eye, cringed and shielded his face with his free arm. "I got out at the wrong fireplace, ma'am," he said, more apologetic and fearful than Hermione had ever heard him at school under the hawk-like stare of McGonagall. He tried to slowly get up, wincing as he did so. "I was trying to end up at Hermione's flat and I got out early. It was an accident."

"Oh," said Mrs. Edgeworth, finally lowering the umbrella to her side. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and took her hand away from the bludgeoning tool. "Well then." There was a moment of awkward silence, before: "When you're going to go courting, you'd be better off knocking at the door like a gentleman."

"That's not what's happ—" Hermione and George both started to say, but Mrs. Edgeworth was already tottering back into her flat. The door snapped shut.

Hermione and George looked at each other. Hermione turned on her heel and started to walk back towards her door. George followed her.

"Hermione."

"I'm not talking to you."

"Hermione!"

_Slam! _George managed to pull in his fingers at the last second before they were broken by the door.

"Hermione, open the door." There was silence. "Hermione, please." More silence. He rested his aching face against the door, caring more about the cool contact than the fact that he was probably bloodying the peephole. "This is not how I meant for this to go," he said quietly. He heard a derisive snort from the other side of the door. "Hermione, I messed up. Immensely." Another derisive snort. "Shite," he muttered quietly. "I came here to apologize. For how I treated you today." There was silence. Could she hear him? Should he wait or talk again? "I want to apolo—"

"I'm listening," Hermione said curtly from the other side of the door. He could picture her on the other side, standing rod-straight, jaw set and arms crossed.

"Look. I was a real wanker. I really was. Still am. I saw something and built it up in my head and apparently got it all wrong and blamed you and Lee for it."

He waited for a reply, but none came. His legs were really hurting from where Mrs. Edgeworth had smacked him and he had crashed into her solid oak desk. He rested his back against the door and slid down until he was sitting.

"I was an idiot. I followed you and Lee out when you left all of the sudden the other night. And I saw Lee catch up to you and hug you. And it was far away and I thought you were…were…"

"Kissing?" Hermione said through the door. Her voice was much closer now. If he was a betting man (which he was, but what would be the point in a bet like this?), he would have bet that she was sitting exactly like he was, but on the other side of the door.

"Yeah. And I got really upset, because…well, because of a lot of reasons." He fell silent.

"Reasons like what?"

George sighed. "Are you going to make me say all of this to the door?" he asked, joking weakly. He knew it was a poor attempt at a poor time, but you couldn't blame him for trying. It was habit.

There was a sigh from the other side of the door and noise of someone moving. He stood up quickly. The door opened slightly. He pushed it open and stepped in. Hermione stood on the other side of the room, back against the wall, arms crossed like she was shielding herself. Her wand poked out from her entwined arms. He turned to shut the door, and turned back. He tried to take another step closer to her, but his feet were stuck to the floor. He tried to move them again, but he couldn't budge. He looked up at her. She was glaring fiercely at him but not saying a word.

"I've completely lost your trust, haven't I?" he whispered, horrified at what he'd done. She just continued to glare. "God, Hermione, I am so sorry."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" she repeated. The words were harsh, curt, and over-enunciated. "Why were you upset?"

George took a breath before starting. "Fred and Lee and I always had a deal, since our first year – if one of us said a certain girl was off-limits, the others couldn't chase after her. It started because Lee really fancied Angelina. And we all agreed, but you know, we were eleven and stupid, and it didn't seem like that big of an issue. And Lee was always after her, making comments as commentator when we'd play, talking about how attractive she was and how she kept refusing to go out with him and all that. McGonagall always threatened to take his position away, but he was so good at it that she just yelled at him a lot for it. And he chased after her for six years, and would ask her out at the most random times, like in the middle of dissecting a toad for potions or while they were passing in the hallways, and she always smiled but she always turned him down. But when the Yule Ball rolled around, he got really nervous and was trying to figure out the most romantic way to ask her to go with him. And right in front of everyone, just to prove a point to Ron and Harry, Fred just turns around and shouts across the common room, "Oi! Angelina! Do you, want to come to the ball, with me?" and does this little pantomime with it. And she looked him up and down and went, "All right, then," and went back to talking like nothing had happened.

"Lee was furious. He didn't talk to Fred for a week. And after the Ball, Fred and Angelina dated for almost a year. It gutted Lee. The first three-four months, Lee wouldn't talk to Fred; he was so angry that he'd been betrayed. And Fred said he hadn't known that Lee was still serious about her after _that_ long. He thought it was just some silly rule we'd instated as kids, like the other stupid stuff we said, like that we'd all become animagi together, like the Marauders. I was stuck in the middle of the two of them, and it took a lot for Lee to trust Fred again. And after Fred and Angelina broke up, Lee went right back to asking her out. He was still mad for her. And she finally said yes, and they started dating, but then the War happened, and they were forced apart by things. After the War was over, neither tried to get back with the other. Lee saw how crushed she was by Fred's death, and he's never talked about it, but I think, and I think he thinks, that she really loved Fred, like the kind of love my parents have for each other. That kind of love. And he loves her that much, but I think he realized she'd never love him as much as she loved Fred. And I really think that broke him in a way. He hasn't dated since."

George looked over at Hermione, not really remembering when he has sunk to the floor and sat, leaned up against the door once again. She was mirroring him, sitting against the far wall, wiping quiet tears from her face. George took a breath before continuing. He had never talked about all this to anyone, especially Lee, who flat out ignored anyone's attempts to talk about Angelina. Finally, it had come to a point that they never even mentioned her name. George had tried to date a really nice girl he'd met, but when he found out her name was Angie, he had ended it immediately, knowing that he couldn't bring her around without forcing Lee to face his tamped-down past.

"And when Fred and Angelina started dating, Lee made me re-promise to make sure that that pact was still in force for the two of us. And I did although I didn't really see the point. And when you started working here, I told him that you were off limits."

Hermione looked startled. "Wh-why?"

"Because you're my best friend, 'Mione. You and Lee are all I have. But you were _my_ friend, and I didn't want him screwing with you. So I told him to lay off the pranks – which he ignored – and I told him to back off, which is stupid – I know – because he's probably still not over Angelina, but I did. And when I saw him hugging you and all I could see was the back of your head, and I thought the worst. And I was stupid and took my anger out on you when you had no idea about all this and I just didn't think because I was too upset, thinking I had been betrayed just like he had."

He groaned and put his swollen face in his palms. "I went to bleedin' Ireland, for Merlin's sake, and I shouted at him and he started laughing, and I thought I was going to take his head off, I swear, and then he was like, 'You think I'm shagging Granger?'" He heard a small giggle, but continued. "And when he explained everything, I felt so awful. Honestly, I thought I was going to be si—"

"What do you mean, he explained _everything_?" Hermione asked urgently.

"He didn't explain _everything_. He said you were crying and he was making sure you were alright. And when I asked why you were crying, he said you two had a row because you were embarrassed by the drop prank, and you punched him and then you two broke down or something. He said you were upset about something but he wasn't allowed to tell me about it, but I accidentally triggered it at the pub, and yeah," George finished, rather lamely.

There was a long silence as they just stared at each other.

"Hermione, I am so absolutely sorry. For how I treated you. For everything." He paused, terrified to ask his next question because of the answer he might get. "Do you hate me?"

Hermione gave a watery chuckle. "I could never hate you, George." She stood up, walked over to him, and kneeled down before him. Her hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the split skin on his cheekbone. "Can you even see out of this eye?" she asked quietly.

He snorted. "Not a bit. Is it still open?"

"I can see the eye, but I figured you can't see me." She kept her face inches from his, surveying his wounds. He watched as her amber eyes seemed to take in every inch of his face. "I can't believe you got attacked by my ninety-seven year old neighbor," she said with a laugh.

"Yeah, that old bird has an arm on her!" George joked, although it really hurt to smile.

"Well, back in the day, she was the beater for the Kenmare Kestrels."

"Bollocks."

"It's true; I've been forced to look at all the albums and the jerseys."

"Forced? I think that hurts me more than the black eye." Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "Okay, the injuries in total hurt to holy hell, but that's a close second."

Hermione shook her head, but was smiling. "Come here," she said as she moved forward to hold his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Before Hermione could start getting up, George wrapped his arms around her. Hermione tensed for a moment before she wrapped her arms around his back. He pulled her close, until she was practically sitting on his lap. He buried his face in her hair, and he could feel the curve of her nose and her warm breath against his neck. He held her tightly for a good few minutes, just wanting to apologize more for how he'd hurt her, to thank her for understanding, to shake her for being so forgiving when he had been so wretched.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

"I know," she whispered back, her hand sliding up his back to card through his hair. He was immediately reminded of when this had all started, months back, when he had come to offer the job and she had taken him in and fixed his hair. He smiled and hugged her once more.

"You really are amazing. Thank you for forgiving me."

"You're easy to forgive."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I'm just saying, I freaking love Lee in this chapter. That's all.

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When Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, George was sitting on a chair, apparently waiting for her. She started; usually the room was empty in the mornings. He frowned worriedly at her reaction.

"Err…good morning," she said awkwardly.

"Morning," he said quietly.

"What brings you into the back room at," she checked her watch, "eight-oh-four in the morning? Wanted me to start out the day with a heart attack?"

"Are we okay?" George asked, standing up and taking a small step towards her.

She looked at the frown lines on his forehead and his very red bottom lip (she knew he worried it with his teeth whenever he was anxious about something). "Of course we're okay, George."

"Really, because yesterday I put my foot so far in my mouth, it was coming out the other end."

"I was considering that hex," she said as she tried, rather unsuccessfully, to hide her grin.

George blinked, taken aback. "You seriously don't want to kill me? I was such a prat and—"

"George," she said as she walked forward and grabbed his upper arms, "stop it. Just stop. You explained everything, you apologized, and I said I don't hate you. Plus, any damage I might have wanted to do to you was already done by my _ninety-seven year old neighbor_, and no, I will never ever let you live that down. And I am _absolutely_ telling Lee when I see him at your mum's house this Sunday." She looked at his blushing face and then added: "And don't worry – I won't tell anyone else in the family. They don't need to know any of this happened."

George just stared at her, dumbfounded. Suddenly, he moved forward and wrapped her in a huge hug, even lifting her off the ground. "Ugh," he groaned, "Hermione, you are way too good for me. Why do you even tolerate me?"

"I'm not too good for you, George." Then, as he started to release her, in a moment of unexpected bravery, she added: "Maybe I'm just right for you."

George stopped and looked at her. He looked puzzled and intrigued by her words. And, Hermione, feeling her braveness being quickly replaced with anxiety and fear of rejection, smiled and turned towards the door. "So, why don't we open this shop, eh?"

She tried not to keep much thought on the fact that she was all the way at the front doors before she heard his footsteps come out from the back room.

.

.

.

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"It's true."

"NO! It's too good to be true. I need proof."

"Well, I'd show you the blood he left on my front door, but I already cleaned it."

Lee whipped around and hollered across the Weasley's back yard. "OI! GEORGE! C'MERE!"

George politely excused himself from the conversation he was in with Mr. Weasley and Charlie, and walked across the yard to where Hermione and Lee were talking amongst the vegetable patch. He walked over smiling, but the smile quickly fell when he saw Lee's eager face.

"What is it—Oh. Dammit, Hermione!"

Lee's grin grew to one of absolute elation. "So it's true?"

"Oh shut it."

"You got the shite kicked out of you by a centenarian?" Lee was practically bouncing now.

"She was not 100 years old. She was ninety-seven. Get it right."

"It doesn't even matter because _you got the shite kicked out of you by someone's great grandmother!_"

"Actually," interrupted Hermione, "she doesn't have any grandchild—"

"THAT'S PRICELESS!" Lee shrieked in mad glee. "I LOVE HER. SO. MUCH."

"You have to keep in mind she was a professional Beater for—"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET, YOU TIT!"

Lee's mirth was starting to attract the attention of the others, namely Harry, Ginny, and Ron – three people who Hermione knew George would be mortified if they found out about Mrs. Edgeworth or, worse, about why he had needed to rush to Hermione's flat in the first place. Hermione put her arm on Lee's shoulder and shushed him.

"That's what you get, you bastard!" whispered Lee, whose smile had yet to dim. "You falsely accuse Hermione and me of shagging and you yell at us, and you get a black eye from some old biddie's umbrella!"

"Really, Hermione," George said, turning to her, "you had to tell him everything? Seriously? Even the umbrella?"

Lee cackled madly. Hermione ignored him. "Well, he does have a point."

"It's the bleedin' universe! It's a sign that you shouldn't be a prick to 'Mione and me! Or some granny's gonna come into the shop and beat you over the head with a broomstick or something."

"Why would a granny have a broomstick with her?" asked Hermione.

Lee paused, smile faltering momentarily. "Err…that's a good point. Walking stick. That makes sense. Yeah! She'll beat you with a walking stick." He paused for a second and looked at George, who was still shaking his head at a falsely-apologetic Hermione. "Oh yeah, how'd everything get sorted out with you two? I'm assuming you two talked it out or something."

Hermione's and George's eyes met. Neither wanted to explain what had actually happened after Mrs. Edgeworth left. It was so emotional and so personal. It was not something you told someone else about, even though Lee was actually a part of it.

"Yeah, we sorted it out," George said with a smile, eyes still on Hermione as he talked. There was a beat of silence as Hermione smiled at George.

"That was a look. There was a look. That means something," said Lee, pointing at their faces in turn. George frowned at him as Hermione rolled her eyes. "Did you two shag?"

Hermione immediately felt her face flush, a hot wave up her neck and probably finishing somewhere under all her hair. Out of the peripherals of her very wide, shocked eyes, she saw that George had surpassed Ron's brick red and had gone all the way to maroon.

"Oh god! Lee!" she exclaimed, just as George shouted, "WHAT?"

"I dunno! There was a look! I thought maybe that was the look—"

"Lee. Just stop talking," mumbled Hermione, her face in her hands.

"Look at you two. Matching blushes. That's adorable," teased Lee.

"Lee!" moaned Hermione.

Hermione's eyes were covered by her hands, but she heard an _oof!_ that had probably come from George punching him in the gut. She peeked through her fingers and saw Lee doubled over. She had been right.

"DINNER, YOU LOT!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "GET IN HERE, YOU LOT!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and shot towards the house. She caught up with Harry, Ron and Ginny, and joined their group wordlessly.

"Do I want to know?" asked Harry, looking at her bright pink face.

"No," said Hermione weakly.

"I want to know!" Ron and Ginny said in unison.

Hermione hurried into the house and nipped into the loo, more to wait for the others to sit down than to wash her hands. Unfortunately, she stepped out right as George walked into the house, followed closely by Lee, who was hissing something at George. Hermione didn't catch what was said, but she saw George suddenly turn around and punch Lee hard in the chest, right where the arm went into the socket. Lee bit back a shout of pain and kicked George, who fell forward and bumped into Hermione. She, half-turned to watch them, lost her balance and stumbled forward into the dining room.

"What is going on out there?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her eyes narrowed on the pair, who had just stumbled into the dining room.

"Nothing," all three said in unison, before glaring at each other, as if they had stolen the other's line.

Everyone except Mr. and Mrs. Weasley laughed.

"You're getting to be as bad as those two, Hermione," teased Charlie.

Hermione gave an apologetic little smile and internally groaned as she looked around and realized that the only open spot was now between Lee and Harry. This was going to be a long Sunday dinner. She sat down quickly.

"You know it's getting bad when their names start getting combined," said Bill with a laugh. "GeorgeandHermione. It's like FredandGeorge all over again."

Surprisingly, everyone laughed at that. Mrs. Weasley looked over at Hermione and gave her a warm smile. She glanced over at George, wondering how he was taking the comment. Over the sound of the others repeating _GeorgeandHermione_ in amusement, George and Lee's laughter rang out. George met her eyes and beamed at her. She smiled back, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel a little disheartened. _Always the best friend, never the girlfriend_ the voice in her head sang bitterly.

She felt Lee's dreadlocks brush against her as he leaned over and whispered, "Maybe one of these days, George will pull his head out of his arse and figure out that the nickname should stay."

Hermione gave him a twisted smile and whispered back, "Don't tease me with such fantasies, Lee. It's cruel."

Lee bumped Hermione's shoulder with his own. Hermione looked up from her plate and saw George's eyes flicking between her and Lee, as if he had been trying to eavesdrop. He noticed her watching him and dropped his eyes guiltily onto his plate. Hermione giggled and turned her focus on the bowl of jacket potatoes that Harry was passing to her.

.

.

.

It was late in the evening, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone up to bed, while the others stayed in the sitting room to talk. Hermione was sitting on the couch next to Harry, who was talking to Ron over his sleeping girlfriend's head, which was resting on his shoulder. She was content not talking to anyone; she was watching George and Lee play Exploding Snap with Bill and Charlie. Whenever a card would explode, she would see the players pull their hands away quickly so as to avoid getting burned, or laughing raucously when someone's hair or eyebrows got singed. Every so often, Lee or George would look over at her, as if checking on her. Lee would usually stick his tongue out or cross his eyes, which always got Hermione to laugh and sometimes stick her tongue out at him, whereas George would just turn and look at her for a moment or so with a smile on his face. Every so often he would wink and grin cheekily, usually after his opponents got burned, as if it was his plan that it had just exploded. Or maybe he really could control the game; Hermione wouldn't put it past him.

She didn't know how long she had been watching him when she heard her name in a whisper. She turned and saw Harry watching her.

"Hermione," he whispered again.

She shifted on the couch so she was close enough to Harry to have a whispered conversation. "Yes?" she whispered back.

"Can I ask you something…odd?" Hermione looked at him questioningly. "I don't usually talk about stuff like this with you, but…"

Hermione noticed Harry was starting to blush a little. She could tell he would have been squirming slightly in sheer uncomfortable-ness if it hadn't been for the weight of Ginny against his torso.

"What is it?"

"Do…do you fancy George?" asked Harry in so quiet a voice that Hermione, who was inches from his face, almost missed it.

Hermione started. Damn her cheeks; she could already feel them warming.

"It just…I know you work with him and all, but it seems like…I dunno…it seems like you do," said Harry awkwardly.

Hermione just sighed and grimaced. Harry nodded his head in sympathy.

"And he doesn't…"

"Know or reciprocate? Pretty much," whispered Hermione back.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "That's rough."

"It's awful," she replied with a wry smile. After a few moments, Hermione spoke up again. "Can you not mention this to anyone? The last people I want to know are his family."

"You mean you don't want Molly to know because she'll try to play matchmaker?"

"That or get pitying looks because he doesn't know. Either way, I'd rather not face that."

Apparently the game had just ended and the boys were taking a break between rounds. George stood, stretched, and then headed towards Hermione. He perched himself on the arm of the couch and leaned against the top, his shoulder bumping Hermione's.

"So-o, what were you and Lee whispering about at dinner?" George asked with a grin.

"None of your business, nosey!" said Hermione with a laugh.

"You two are my best friends. Of course it's my business!"

"I'm not telling."

George pretended to be angry for a moment before grinning and ruffling Hermione's hair. He stood and leaned forward until his face was once again close to hers.

"I'll figure it out eventually, Hermione," he said with a grin before straightening and turning to sling his arm around Charlie's shoulders.

"Let's hope," mumbled Hermione. She looked over at Harry, who was giving her the exact pitying look she had just said she wanted to avoid. She closed her eyes and let her head drop against the top of the couch. "Don't you say one word, Harry. Just. Don't."


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione was barely out of the floo fire when a hand grabbed her and pulled her into the room. Hermione stumbled into Grimmauld Place's main sitting room, into which bright sunlight was shining off of the forest green walls, giving Hermione the brief impression of being pulled into the glade where the Quidditch World Cup took place.

"What the—"

Someone steadied Hermione, who was looking around the room, confused by the expectant look Ron was giving her as well as the nervous look Harry was shooting her way from over Teddy's turquoise head. She turned her head and was faced with a beaming Ginny, whose hair, up in a big bun, was giving her a copper halo that made her beaming face look all the more psycho.

"Hi," said Hermione cautiously. "Someone was eager for me to—"

"YOU FANCY GEORGE?" Ginny shrieked happily.

Hermione cringed, absolutely sure her eardrum had just burst. But as the words sunk in, she whirled around to face the others.

"HARRY!" Hermione bellowed. Teddy's eyes, already wide from his adoptive mother's exclamation, started to water. "Oh baby," she said quietly as she hurried forward. "Oh honey, come here. Aunty Hermione is sorry she scared you." She picked up the eighteen-month old and started to bounce him gently. "Who's the most gorgeous boy I know? Who is he?" Teddy began to grin and babble happily at her.

Ginny, who had been practically vibrating in the effort to not shriek, burst into speech, now that the baby was once again calm. "So do you?"

"Harry," Hermione said, ignoring Ginny's question, "how long did you hold out before you told her?"

"A fortnight," said Harry, who was shielding his face partially with a couch cushion.

"And how long did it take him to tell you?" Hermione asked the surprisingly quiet Ron.

"Two weeks and one day, which I'm still insulted by because I'm your best mate, so I should have been told first."

"Yes, but I shag him," replied Ginny with a saucy grin.

Ron grimaced. "Can you not? I love you both, but you're my sister and ugh. Just, new topic."

"Okay. Hermione shagging George!" said Ginny with an excited grin.

"UGH! GINNY!" both boys shouted, covering their ears quickly. "She's like our sister," said Harry. Ginny just cackled happily.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's no need to protect your delicate sensibilities," she said. "I can assure you that no one is shagging anyone. He doesn't even have a clue that I fancy him."

"Really? Because Harry is pretty slow on this stuff, and he noticed!" Ginny said, ignoring her boyfriend's loud "Oi!"

"Honestly, even if he did notice, it's like you or Lee liking him." There was a loud chorus of "eww" noises and several shudders of disgust. "C'mon! I don't mean that! I mean he probably just thinks of me like a sister or something, which is why he probably wouldn't notice because I'm his best friend. Which just makes everything so much harder."

"Are you sure, Hermione?" asked Ron. "I mean, it's not like I exactly want to think about it because he's my brother and all, but he always seems like he's flirting with you."

"Yeah, he really does. And he's always hugging you or touching you or ruffling your hair. And you hate when people mess with your hair," said Harry.

"I learned that one the hard way," muttered Ron, rubbing the top of his right hand. "Why don't you smack him for it?"

"Because she fancies him, you dolt." Ginny shook her head and gave Hermione an exasperated look that so clearly said _can you believe what I have to put up with?_

"Can I ask another odd thing?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid to say 'okay' since the last thing you asked me led to this…what is this, by the way? An intervention for me fancying your brother or…?" Hermione said warily. Ginny laughed.

"Does Lee fancy you? I know you guys were never close before but it seems like you two are really close now," said Harry, seeming uncomfortable with all these men supposedly fancying his almost-sister.

Hermione laughed. "No, Lee doesn't fancy me. We've become good friends since I started working at the shop. Actually, when I got there, he waged a prank war on me that drove me absolutely off the wall, and I was always screaming at him. When he slipped me that blushing pill and I was turning horrifically red around George, I was mortified and I lost it at him and started accusing him of trying to run me out of the store, because honestly, I was kind of worried that he was trying to make me so furious that I'd quit."

"Is that when you punched him?" cut in Ron.

"Yeah, and he told me that he wasn't trying to do that. He said he was trying to test me to make sure I'd work well with George and him." Hermione decided not to mention what he had said about Fred; that was something personal between Lee and herself. "And he said he thought I'd be perfect for George, but I think he was just saying that because I was upset that George would figure it out and reject me or something."

"Maybe it would be good if he knew. Maybe he wouldn't reject you," said Ginny hopefully.

"And maybe he would!" said Hermione loudly, her voice shaking slightly. She felt the baby, who had been dozing off in her arms, start from the noise. She lowered her voice. "And he's become one of my best friends, and he's told me I'm his, well, besides Lee. What would happen then? He'd probably be uncomfortable, and I know I'd be miserable because he'd probably try and be nice still, but it would be unbearable and I'd have to quit, and I love working there! And where could I go then? Back to the Ministry? I was miserable there and—"

Harry stood, took Teddy from her, and handed him off to Ginny. He turned to Hermione and wrapped her in a big hug. "Shhh" he whispered quietly and he rubbed circles into her back. "It's okay. Your secret is safe with us." Hermione snorted, and Harry laughed.

He let her go, but Ron was right there to give her a big hug as well. "You know, 'Mione, I'm not great at dealing with people dating my siblings," said Ron, shooting Harry a fake glare, which made Ginny and Hermione laugh, "but honestly, I actually do think you and George would be brilliant together. And I wish he'd stop being a dunce so he could see that too."

"Thanks Ron," Hermione whispered into his neck, as she rested her head against him. He gave her another reassuring squeeze before they broke apart.

"Honestly, Hermione," said Ginny, now passing off the dozing child to his adopted father, "I think he does like you." Hermione snorted again. "Stop that. I do! I think he likes you a lot, but he doesn't really realize it. Like with Harry and me."

"So in that scenario, I'm you, which means I pine after him for four years before he even notices me. _Great_," Hermione said sarcastically as she dropped into a spot on the couch next to Ron, who was laughing.

"I was trying to be supportive, you jerk," said Ginny, chucking a pillow at Hermione's head and successfully making her mark (she wasn't a professional Chaser for no reason). "What I was saying is that you need to take your own advice – get out there, date other guys, try and not just get hung up on him. It worked for me." She leaned over and kissed her smiling boyfriend. Hermione and Ron pretended to be disgusted.

.

.

.

It was drawing towards six the Friday after Hermione's friends had all found out her no-longer-secret crush, and it had been a nice quiet day around the shop. Hermione had spent most of the day sitting on the counters and talking with George, who was now hurrying from the upstairs section, where he had been helping a customer reach one of the pranks that had started flying up towards the ceiling.

"Can you close up shop tonight, 'Mione? I have to leave early."

"Sure. Where are you off to?"

"I've got a date," George said with a bright grin.

Hermione felt her newly-lead-filled stomach plummet through her body and smash through the floor. "Really?" she squeaked.

"Yeah. Her name's Seraphina. Isn't that a cool name?

"Yeah," said Hermione weakly. "Very cool."

"Alright," he said as he looked around, making sure he had everything he needed. "Thanks so much Hermione. You're the best. I'm so lucky to have you." He swooped down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek and a squeeze on the shoulder before he ran towards the back. She could hear his feet clambering up the stairs that led to his flat above the shop.

Hermione put her head down against the cool counter top. Now she knew why it was called "having a crush." Because being around that person constantly, and having everything you want being so close you can almost taste it, but yet so impossibly far out of your reach, and watching that person go off without you, into someone else's arms, completely oblivious to your feelings about them, was like taking your heart, placing it in a mortar and pressing and crushing and grinding it down with a pestle until there was absolutely nothing left.

.

.

.

Lee was just closing up the shop and making sure everything was locked properly, when a silver otter swam in the window, paddling lazily on its back before ending, floating before him. He nodded at it, and Hermione's tearful voice suddenly filled the back room.

_Lee. I can't take this. He has me closing up shop because he's going on a date with some priss named Seraphina._

There was a pause.

_She's probably not a priss. She's probably very nice. She just has kind of a prissy name but that's probably more her mum's fault than hers. And she's probably tall and gorgeous and smart and bloody perfect for him and ugh,_ Hermione groaned. _I just can't take this, Lee. It's bollocks._

There was another pause. It was so long that he has thought the message was over, but then there was a sniffle and her voice had started again. She sounded more tearful, and her voice was higher, quieter. He imagined a much younger, more vulnerable Hermione saying these words, not the strong fighter he had seen in the War.

_I'm sorry I sent this to you. I'm not really sure why I did. I suppose because I don't talk about this to anyone else. Well, Harry and Ron and Ginny know, but…you're the only one I could say this to without being judged. I dunno. _

There was a sigh, then a little hiccup of a sob.

_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent this. I shouldn't have bothered you. This day is just...just…bloody awful. I need a drink. Or seven. Anyways, I'm sorry. Just…just ignore this message._

The little otter did a few cute flips before fading into mist, and then nothing. Lee stared at the place it had just been, thinking about all he had heard. He pressed his lips together hard, trying to not let the emotions get to him. He knew how she was feeling. God, did he know those feelings. He absolutely knew what it was like to love someone and love someone and watch them be with someone else. Be happy with someone else. And god, had he wished he could have had someone to just be there for him. Not to say anything comforting or "helpful." Just to be there and nod their head and go, "It's such a shite feeling, isn't it?" And dammit, he was going to be that person for Hermione, even if it brought up things he didn't want to face. Because she would never admit that she needed that person, just like how he had never admitted it.

He had an inkling of where she would go if she was going to get that drink. Lee turned on his heel, and with a _crack!_, he disapperated.


	15. Chapter 15

Lee landed in the middle of Diagon Alley, right in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Lee looked at the darkened shop, then quietly checked to make sure all the protection and locking spells were in place. He trusted Hermione to have done it right, but he wouldn't have blamed her for missing something in the midst of her emotional breakdown. He shook his head – it was so perfectly Hermione to remember every little detail and enact the spells perfectly even while crying (Lee assumed she had been crying still, and had closed the shop right before or right after she had sent him her message).

He hurried down the street at a quick walk, heading towards the main source of noise and light in the falling dusk. He stepped through the doors of The Cracked Wand and scanned the crowd. Most of the usual types were here – the single girls doing a "girls night," which generally consisted of them flirting, enjoying turning down guys while acting like being turned down was no big deal because _he wasn't that handsome anyways_; the single guys who were trying to weed out the hottest girl who would have self-esteem low enough to buy one of their lines and go home with them; the odd pairs of friends here and there that were here more to talk than to drink; the occasional harried businessman or lower-ranking Ministry official who had a day requiring a stiff drink; the barfly who was _always_ there, no matter what; and the single girl who has a book and does not want your advances _thank you very much now please go away_.

Tonight, it seemed, Hermione was the latter. She was pointedly looking at her book, although she didn't seem to be reading as much as engaging it in a staring match. There were one or two guys who seemed to hover around her, as well as several around the other areas who kept snatching glances of her. Lee frowned slightly. He could see, empirically, why people found Hermione attractive. She was a good height – not too tall to intimidate a man yet not too short to be considered petite – and had a nice figure with curves in all the good places; she had long brown hair that was currently in a thick plait that was draped over one of her shoulders; she had nice bone structure and quick brown eyes that had a depth to them, as if they saw under your layers and saw the truth of each thing they stopped on. He could get it. But her nose was slightly red, as were both eyes, which some would (stupidly) call "bedroom eyes" but Lee was smart enough to recognize them for what they were – symptoms of someone who'd been crying to the extent that she'd run out of tears but not out of emotions.

As he started walking over, the bartender slid in front of her a flaming glass of some gold liquid. One of the gadflies had moved over, his new topic ready at hand. It was too loud and Lee was too far to hear the words, but he saw on his lips the words _drink_ and _strong_ and _women_ and _strong_ once again, which had to form into some horridly awful pickup line that earn his target's scorn. Sure enough, as he made it around the corner of the bar and was only a few paces from Hermione, he saw her look up from her book and turn her head in a cat-like movement that reminded Lee fiercely of a jaguar in the moment of stillness before it attacked. She grabbed the drink, brought it to her lips, blew quickly on it (Lee was amused to see the guy cringe slightly as the flame almost jumped to his shirt), took a long sip, all the while giving him a look that would have frozen a burning phoenix. She turned back to her book without a word.

In a last ditch attempt (clearly this guy just did not get how terrifying Hermione could be), he asked, "What, do you have a boyfriend or something?"

Lee had his in.

"Hey babe," he said loudly, walking up towards the guy. Lee would have liked to say that he got no joy out of the man's eyes widening comically as he turned his head to see the speaker (as Lee was at least four inches taller and looked like he could easily beat the man up), but then he'd be a liar. He smirked slightly as Hermione turned her head, frowning ever so slightly.

"Sorry I was late. You know how it gets down at the Auror Office." Lee tried not to laugh as the man let out the tiniest squeak of fear.

"I'm just glad you're here now," said Hermione genuinely, a small smile tugging on her lips.

Lee wedged his way between the man and Hermione, and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. He turned and looked (the few inches) down at the man. "Can I help you?" he asked, letting himself sound the slightest bit condescending.

"Err…no. I was just—" The man skittered off quickly.

Lee looked around the bar at the other men who had been scoping out Hermione, catching a few of their eyes as he pulled up a chair for himself and slung his arm around the back of hers. They each averted their eyes or moved towards a different group of people. Honestly, these people needed to respect privacy and solitude.

"Sorry," said Lee quietly with a grin, "I just couldn't help myself."

Hermione giggled. "I thought I recognized your voice but I couldn't imagine those words being directed at me." Lee chuckled. "You know, Harry thought you fancied me."

Lee snorted. "The boy saved the wizarding world, but he's no matchmaker. He and Ron are too clueless. Harry's lucky that Ginny was practically handed to him, thanks to Hogwarts." That got Hermione to really laugh. Lee guessed it was the first time that day. Her voice was scratchy and deeper, yet somehow breathy, as if she had shouted her voice away. "So, can I buy you a drink?" he said in his cheesiest pickup voice.

She just shook her head wordlessly, but smiled nonetheless. "I can't turn down a free drink, especially after the day I've had."

Lee was quiet for a few moments. "Do you want to talk about that?" Hermione just gave him a glance, her bottom lip already starting to press forward as she tried to hold back tears. "Hold on. We need alcohol first."

He signaled to the bartender, an attractive woman about his age with long black braids that ran down her back. He took in a deep breath, forcing himself to not dwell on memories of Angelina and the way her braids' beads would clack together in an almost musical way. She headed over to him and smiled. "What can I get for you?"

"Whatever she had, but three of them." The bartender nodded and turned away.

"Why three?" asked Hermione.

"You have an unfair head start," Lee said with a grin. "If we're going to bare souls and wallow in commiseration and self-pity, I need to be ever so slightly pissed." He took a breath and said as off-hand as possible, "I don't exactly have a great past with being picked either."

He looked straight ahead, willing himself to not shut down, as he had a tendency to when it came to _her_. He felt a warm hand on his arm. He turned to see Hermione watching him with those deep eyes, and he knew in that instant that she already knew, somehow, about his past. They said nothing until the drinks were set in front of them, flaming brightly.

"So, what's your potion, Granger? There's obviously Firewhiskey in it."

"How could you tell?" she asked sarcastically. "It's called a Sunrise here, although I know it by a different name. It's whiskey and ginger ale. I suppose it's got that cheery name thanks to the color and, you know, the fire."

"I think something's wrong with your sun if this is how you think it rises."

Hermione snorted. "My thoughts exactly. But whatever works. My dad collects whiskeys he finds interesting, so I grew up learning his recipes just because it was fun to watch him make them." She paused, staring at her drink. "Huh. I don't think I've ever told anyone that before."

"We have a habit of that, don't we?" Lee joked. They each blew on their glasses and took a sip. "Damn. The prefect knows her way around a good drink." Hermione chuckled, staring into her glass, book completely forgotten at her side. "So…how are you doing?" he asked honestly.

"Wretched," she replied with a bitter smile. "How about you, Lee? Do you know what it's like to fall for someone who's almost determinedly oblivious to your feelings?"

Lee stared at Hermione for a moment. He downed his drink and reached for the second one. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be a painful one, isn't it?"

"Oh god yes," Hermione muttered.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, each inside their own heads. Finally, Hermione spoke up.

"I know I seem the absolute opposite of him, but I'm not. We're so alike and we work so well together, and I fancied him long before I realized I did. It's embarrassing how long it took me to realize. And it's worse when you realize, because then you're sitting there with this knowledge and you have to see them and keep it inside, just quietly hoping and wanting."

"I don't know about you, but I was the opposite of quiet when I knew," said Lee.

"Honestly, I always thought your comments during matches were adorable and hilarious, especially when McGonagall would get fed up and try to steal the magical megaphone from you."

They both chuckled. "Yeah, I wish she had taken them seriously. She laughed and blushed, but…nothing." Lee signaled for two more drinks.

"And I picked the one guy who seems to love having me around and genuinely cares about me, and is somehow absolutely blind to what, apparently, everyone else is noticing. I mean, for Merlin's sake, Ron noticed something. And he's about as observant as this glass," said Hermione, shaking her empty tumbler.

"Can I be honest with you, Hermione?"

Hermione squinted at him. "Since when are you not brutally honest with me? I thought that was part and parcel to the lovely 'Test Hermione's Breaking Points' program you had going on at the shop that week."

"Hermione, I really think he likes you. I think he just doesn't realize it."

Hermione's eyes immediately welled up with angry tears. "Everyone keeps telling me that and I hate it. I hate it! That's bollocks, Lee! How do you not know? You know or you don't know. That's how it works. And I hate that comment because it creates this kind of middle ground where I haven't been rejected but he still gets off as being loveable but clueless." She stopped to wipe her streaming face. "Sometimes I just wished he wasn't so bloody nice. Then I could sit quietly and think, 'you know what – it's probably best that this will come to nothing.' But he's so wonderful to me and it makes it so much worse. He kissed me today – did I tell you that?"

Lee nearly fell out of his chair from spinning quickly to face her. "What?"

"He said I was the best for closing the shop for him and he was 'lucky to have me' and all that, and then he swooped down and gave me a kiss on the cheek before rushing off. Things like that make it so much harder to be around him. Like, he's always touching me in some small, sweet way, hugging me or leaving a hand on my back or playing with my hair. Things like that are awful when I know he's out dating someone else. They keep being what I hold onto when I know I can't have him."

"That's rough," Lee said finally.

Hermione and Lee each took their fresh drinks and blew out the flames.

"To falling in love with the worst person possible," Hermione said, raising her glass.

Lee chuckled and thought about that statement. "You have no idea how right you are."

"Oh, I so do," she groaned.

They raised their glasses and clinked them together before each taking a drink.

"'Falling in love'?" Lee asked quietly.

"Well, it's either that or this is the worst case of infatuation I've experienced," muttered Hermione. "It feels like I've been dropped into a deep, dark hole and I have no idea whether I'll land safely or break every part of me, and I don't even know if the end's in sight."

Lee laughed bitterly. "Granger, that's what we call The Pit of Unfathomable Misery, also known as Unrequited Love. Only person I know to get out of it relatively unharmed is Ginny."

"What an arse," Hermione joked.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, finishing their drinks. After a while, Hermione turned to Lee. She looked exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically drained.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming. For not judging me for being like this." She gestured vaguely to all of her, then to her glass.

He bumped her shoulder with his. "I haven't had someone with whom I could ineffectually try to drink away my sorrows. It's kinda nice, in a painful kind of way."

Hermione snorted. "I know I'm too many drinks along to be saying 'with whom,' and if you're not, we have a problem." There was a pause. "It hurts to admit it all out loud. It makes it feel real, doesn't it?"

"Real sucks," Lee muttered. Hermione laughed. "Are you done for the night?"

Hermione frowned at her glass for a moment. "Think I've had enough liquid to successfully produce tears again?" she asked sarcastically.

"I don't know, but if that's your measure of drinking, we should have been pals long ago."

They both laughed.

"Oh god, I am so not going in to work tomorrow. I couldn't handle it," she said.

"Because of the drink or because—" Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. "Because of him. Yeah, I don't blame you. Say you're out, you're feeling really ill."

"Who's really ill?"

Hermione and Lee both turned to the speaker, who was behind them.

It was George.

"Oh bugger," Lee muttered.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hermione and Lee are my favorite brotp ever.**

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"Oh god, I am so not going in to work tomorrow. I couldn't handle it," Hermione said.

"Because of the drink or because—" She raised her eyebrow at him. "Because of him. Yeah, I don't blame you. Say you're out, you're feeling really ill."

"Who's really ill?"

Hermione and Lee both turned to the speaker, who was behind them.

It was George.

"Oh bugger," Lee muttered.

Hermione immediately felt the blood drain from her face. This is not what she needed tonight. If she could have dreamt up the thing that would absolutely shoot this already crippled day in both knees, it would have been this. George was standing behind her, looking absolutely edible in dark jeans, an oxblood button-down, and a black blazer, and behind him stood a girl who Hermione presumed was Seraphina. George was on his date, probably planning on grabbing a nightcap since it was well into the evening, and he had not only walked in on Hermione's obviously-failed attempts to drown her bad day in liquor – not her best decision by far – but Hermione and Lee were clearly here together, even if it hadn't started that way. After George's blowup on Lee and his big, emotional apology, this was not a good situation in which to be caught. Hermione immediately felt nauseous. Not from the alcohol – Hermione could hold her own, a secret not many people knew – but from the sheer awfulness of this situation. Hermione cursed whatever gods there were controlling her life at the moment, because they had a twisted sense of humor.

"Who's really ill?" George asked again, looking worried.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but her traitorous tongue stayed silent. Thankfully, Lee rushed to her aid.

"Hermione said she was probably going to send in an owl tomorrow morning to you telling you she's not feeling well. It just came over her in the last hour or so. Might be a bug or something," Lee said smoothly, adding in a sympathetic little look over at Hermione for added effect.

"Really?" asked George. He stepped forward and put his palm on her forehead, testing for a fever. "Wow, 'Mione, you seem kind of clammy."

Hermione just let out a little noise that she hoped portrayed some kind of illness as well as some surprise that she seemed ill. There was a little cough behind George. He started, took his hand off of Hermione's forehead, and turned to the other girl with an apologetic grin.

"Oh god. How awful of me. I'm terribly sorry. Guys, this is Seraphina. Seraphina, these are my best mates, Lee and Hermione. They both are designers at the shop with me."

Seraphina stepped forward and into the light. She gave them each a sweet but shy smile as she shook each of their hands with a polite "It's nice to meet you." Lee and Hermione both said the same, but Hermione was too busy noticing for the first time what Seraphina looked like. She was a bit taller than Hermione, and had a square, angular jaw that gave her stunning cheekbones. Her hair was a rich brown and very curly, and her eyes were big and dark brown as well. She was wearing what Hermione supposed was a very pretty blue dress with a white knee-length coat over, but Hermione was too busy looking at her face to notice the rest of her much.

"I've heard so much tonight about each of you," she said in a voice that was pleasant but oddly reminiscent of McGonagall's well-enunciated diction. "It must be brilliant all being so close and getting to work on the wonderful products in the shop."

"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Lee, rather faintly.

Hermione noticed the tone, and shot a quick glance at Lee. It seemed that he too was staring at her face, and Hermione immediately wondered if they were of the same mind. Lee turned his head, glanced at Hermione, then looked back at Seraphina. Hermione knew then that they were both thinking the same thing – the girl George was dating looked a whole lot like Hermione. Granted, they had very different jawlines and face shapes, but the eyes, the hair, the stature, and the nose were close to Hermione's. She even sounded like Hermione. Now that was just cruel irony – George didn't fancy Hermione, but apparently she was exactly his type. Hermione was definitely feeling sick now. She swallowed thickly, then hitched on what she hoped could pass as more of a smile than a grimace.

George moved next to her, and it snapped back to reality. Apparently, Seraphina was chattering on to Lee about Ireland, but George was watching Hermione closely.

"Hermione, you don't look so good. You look almost a little green. I think you need to go home," he said, petting her hair a few times as he spoke.

"Yeah, I'm not really feeling that great," she said weakly.

Lee, always the gentleman, jumped from his conversation to theirs. "Hermione, do you want me to take you home?"

"No, I'm fine," Hermione said, "I'll just—"

George turned quickly to his date and gave her yet another apologetic yet disarmingly handsome smile. "I'm so sorry, Seraphina. I think I need to take Hermione home. I think she might be really sick. I hate to cut this date short but—"

"No! Oh god, no!" said Hermione quickly. "Don't let me ruin your night. I'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you," said Seraphina with a smile. "But are you sure?"

"Yes, I—"

"Hermione. You shouldn't try and make it home on your own if you're ill," scolded Lee. "Let George take you home and make sure you're all settled." In the split second that George looked over at his date, Lee winked at Hermione and flashed her a small grin. "Go," he ordered.

The pairs said their hasty goodbyes. George gave Seraphina a swift hug and said a quick _Thank you for understanding_ while she smiled and said the typical _I had a lovely time tonight._ She seemed to be expecting a kiss, but George was looking over at Hermione, who was grabbing her things.

Lee pulled Hermione into a quick, firm hug, turning them as they did so, so that George wouldn't see him whisper into Hermione's ear. "Don't worry. I think we successfully chased off your clone. Have a nice time with Loverboy."

Hermione fought to keep a smile off her face, and said, "Thanks for everything, Lee."

"No problem, Granger," he said with a grin and a wink.

Hermione turned to George, who was looking at her expectantly, apparently too busy worrying about her to notice the expectant and slightly irritated look his date was giving him.

"C'mon, 'Mione. Let's get you home."

Hermione gave a quick wave to Seraphina, and was then shepherded out of the pub by George's hand, which was resting on her mid-back. When they got out onto the street, George took his hand off her back and offered it to Hermione.

"Side-along?" he asked.

Hermione just nodded. They intertwined their hands – Hermione couldn't help but notice how they did it perfectly on the first try or how comfortably her hand fit in his – and George turned slightly.

In an instant, they were at Hermione's door. Hermione unlocked the door and they headed in.

"George, this is very sweet of you, but I can—"

"Hermione Granger, you are a horrible patient, aren't you?"

"Wha—"

"Hermione, can you once, for the love of Merlin, let someone try and take care of you instead of you always taking care of everyone else? I love your independence, but honestly, you need to let people help you sometimes."

Hermione couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face, or the warm feeling she felt in her chest at his words. Oh Merlin, was she mad for him. "Okay," she mumbled.

"Alright, now you go wash up and put on your pajamas. I'm going to make you some tea, alright?" George directed sweetly.

Hermione nodded her head dumbly and went off to do as he said. She felt a bit like a little kid again, but in the innocent way that you did when you knew you were safe and taken care of. After she had done that, she walked back out to her kitchen, but George, who had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, shepherded her into her bedroom. Hermione wondered for an instant how he knew where it was, but she quickly dismissed the query. He pulled back the quilt, had her sit down, and tucked the blankets around her. He left the room, and left Hermione wondering at George's mothering, and quickly returned with a mug of tea. She smelled the apricots and vanilla as he handed it to her.

"How did you know which tea was my bedtime tea?"

"The scent," George said seriously. Hermione looked at him in wonder. His façade cracked and he grinned. "The fact that it's called 'Sweet Dreams' helped a bit too."

Hermione laughed. George walked to the other side of the bed. He kicked off his shoes and sat down next to her against the pillows.

"How're you feeling?" he said, turning his head to look at her.

"A bit better," she said with a small smile. "Sorry for ruining your date." Hermione figured that he had been so nice to her that she should scrounge up at least a little remorse for taking over his night. Since she had no remorse, she settled for falsely apologetic.

"Eh," he said with a shrug. "It's honestly nothing. It wasn't that brilliant of a date anyways."

Hermione desperately fought to keep her face looking apologetic and her tone concerned. "Oh, I'm sorry about that. What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_, per say," said George. He folded his arms behind his head, resting them against her oak headboard. "She was very nice, very pretty, but she's not…I dunno…she just was missing something, you know? Like, she couldn't keep up with me. I don't want that to sound cocky or condescending or anything. I just mean she wasn't fast enough, smart enough, witty enough, you know?" Hermione hummed in understanding. "I dunno, maybe I'm spoiled by you and Lee – you guys know how to spar. She's nice, but quick enough for me. And I don't think she gets sarcasm."

"Oh, I love people like that," muttered Hermione.

"See?" said George with a laugh, gesturing to Hermione. "It's practically a required second language for us at the shop? But I made some joke at dinner – which was delicious, by the way; we totally have to go back sometime; the pasta was _amazing_ – and she totally thought I was serious and got on this long rant about some topic or other. I dunno what it was; I stopped listening."

"George! That's rude! You don't tune out your date!" Hermione laughed, slapping George lightly on the leg.

"She was boring! And the food was delicious. I don't regret my actions."

They both laughed. Hermione leaned her head against the headboard. George copied her, tilting his head to look at her.

"Do you think I was a prat for doing that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, then turned to look at him. "Well, that's difficult to say," she said seriously. "As you're a prat so often…"

"Oi!" He hit her shoulder with his. Her tea, which had been cooling to a less-scalding temperature, slopped over the mug and poured all over Hermione's bedding. She let out a yelp of pain as it burned her hands.

"Oh shite," George said quickly, wiggling so he could pull his wand from out of his left pocket. "Evanesco," he said with a quick wave.

The quilt and Hermione's cup were once again dry. Hermione set the tea on her bedside table. George took her hands and looked at them, turning them over in his hands to check for possible burns.

"Inevitable. I try to help and end up mucking things up," he muttered.

Hermione smiled and turned her hands to hold his. "Stop that. You are helping, George." They shared a smile. "Didn't you ever listen to Moody? He always said you shouldn't keep your back pocket."

"How much you want to bet it's him who lost that buttock he warned about?" joked George.

Hermione snorted, which made George burst into raucous laughter, which – of course – made Hermione laugh as well. After a minute or so, they quieted down. George looked over at Hermione with a grin.

"You get well, alright? And I better not see you at work tomorrow. You just need to work on feeling better."

"Okay."

George twisted slightly and wrapped his arms around Hermione in a hug. Hermione was immediately aware that she was not wearing a bra and felt the flush of embarrassment color her cheeks, but she wasn't going to let that ruin a perfectly good George-Weasley-hug. She hugged him back, resting her cheek on his shoulder. When they pulled away, George smiled and ran his thumb along her cheek.

"You look flushed. Don't you start catching a fever now."

Hermione chuckled. "I don't think I have much control over that."

George frowned at her. "You are Hermione Granger – you have control over everything." He grinned and kissed her on the side of her head before he started standing up. "Feel better. And drink your tea. I worked very hard on it."

"Oh, I'll bet. Pouring hot water into a mug is a demanding task," Hermione replied dryly.

George, who was pulling on his shoes, snorted and shook his head in amusement. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Hermione smiled at the man leaning against her doorframe, his tilted head shooting her a fond smile. "Goodnight, George."


End file.
